Harry Potter and the Moja Mansion
by chudleycannonsnumber1
Summary: Auror trainees Harry and Ron are content to stick to the work they are assigned, but when a peculiar case goes ignored by their boss, Hermione helps them investigate it under the radar. What could go wrong? Third in the TOG series.
1. The State of Things

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

Rating: T for swearing, violence, and adult themes.

A/N: This is the third in the TOG series. Read the other two first.

Some more info: While adjusting to life at Grimmauld Place, Harry and Ron get a taste of Auror work.

* * *

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place was situated in a small town square, surrounded by similarly worn and shabby houses. The front of the building, like those flanking it, was dirty, with many broken windows that were covered in grime, several heaps of rubbish in the yard's unkempt grass, and a large battered door atop a stoop of gray stone steps. The door's black paint was chipped and scratched, and its door knocker was a silver lion's head clutching a dead serpent in its fangs.

The sun shone brightly, covering number twelve, Grimmauld Place with a layer of warmth and a blanket of golden light. Inside the house, the sun's rays beamed through one of the cracked windows and onto the ghostly-white face of a tall, gangly, orange-haired boy. He sat up and raised a hand to shield himself from the sun's light, which was barely hindered by the window's thin vermilion curtains, which only served to tint the room red.

Ron Weasley felt himself being tugged back into the bed by a small pair of hands that gripped him around his waist. He turned to see a half-asleep bushy-haired girl nuzzling her forehead against his shoulder and urging him to lay back down. He wiggled his arm free from her grasp and nudged her shoulder with his palm repeatedly until she opened her eyes.

"Can't sleep in today," said Ron, softly. "It's Saturday. Hagrid's coming, remember?"

"Oh, that's -" Hermione's sentence was interrupted by a light yawn. "Right. I nearly forgot. Good morning, by the way."

"Good morning." Ron slipped his arms around Hermione's waist and embraced her as she leaned in to kiss his cheek.

"This is a great way to wake up," she said, before rising to her feet by the side of the bed with a spring in her step.

Ron stood, stretched his arms until his elbows cracked and walked over to his dresser, which had been recklessly stuffed with half his clothing, the other half still tucked away in his school trunk in the corner of the room. He slid one of the drawers open and vaguely heard Hermione doing the same to her dresser on the other side of the room, which had been neatly packed with all of her clothing on the night they arrived. They'd reached an unspoken agreement to keep their backs turned as they got dressed, but that didn't last past the first four days, as they kept catching each other peeking.

"A Cannons shirt?" asked a fully-dressed Hermione as she approached Ron from behind.

"Why not?" Ron turned to find his girlfriend clad in a lilac blouse and khaki pants.

"We're entertaining guests." Hermione shook her head and passed Ron, digging in his heap of tangled clothing to find a white button-up shirt. "Here, wear this, and no camouflage."

"It's Hagrid!" Ron snorted. "He'll probably be coming with his moleskin coat, packed with soggy sausages, and that's if we're lucky - that's if he doesn't decide on formal attire."

"It's a shame Madame Maxime isn't as strict as I am, then," said Hermione. "Though, I'm not sure if they're still seeing each other."

"I don't think so," said Ron, connecting the buttons on his shirt, only to find that he'd skipped one. "Damn these things. I don't know if she was right for him anyway. Too posh. You need to be willing to get your hands dirty if you want to be with Hagrid. Oh hell, the imagery..."

"Opposites attract," said Hermione, smirking as she watched Ron's third attempt at buttoning his shirt. "We're proof of that, aren't we?"

"We've been through a lot together. Aha!" Ron smoothed out his correctly buttoned shirt. "Besides, it might just be my Quidditch skills that turn you on. I know how you like good Quidditch players."

"I'm afraid Ginny is the only reason I still care about Quidditch."

Hermione giggled at Ron's dismay and swept in to place a quick kiss on his lips before trotting off towards the bathroom by the stairs.

"Hagrid would love camouflage, by the way!" Ron called after her, while stuffing his feet into his socks. "He'd be able to use it when he goes into the forest!"

There was a light laugh from behind the bathroom door. Hermione peeked out, clutching a toothbrush, and raised an eyebrow at Ron. "Yes, because that's the one thing keeping him from being stealthy."

Ron chose to ignore this point and began tying his shoelaces. There was a rustling at the door when Kreacher the House Elf entered Ron and Hermione's room. Kreacher was a mere wisp, only as tall as Ron's thigh, with a bald head, fluffy white ear hair, and saggy, wrinkled, olive-colored skin. He was as thin as a skeleton, with his knobby knees and bony elbows, and wore a white pillowcase over his torso. He spoke in a gravely voice that used to make Ron's skin crawl, and had a tendency to mumble his thoughts.

"Your potion, Master Ronald," said Kreacher. He presented a small ornate crystal vial clutched in his thin fingers. "_Kept Kreacher up all last nigh__t..._"

"Thanks, Kreacher," said Ron.

He took the vial and placed it on Hermione's large potion rack that stretched across the far wall of the room, next to three other vials of a similar shape. Hermione had taught Kreacher how to brew the Wolfsbane potion, and it wasn't long before Kreacher was able to make it on his own. Ron insisted that it was only a monthly duty, but Kreacher had been making it daily, for practice. Ron's stomach lurched when he touched the vial; Wolfsbane potion was constantly and sickeningly warm.

"See?" said Hermione once she returned. Ron turned towards the door to find her eyes scanning him up and down. "Very handsome."

"Yeah, Hagrid won't be able to keep his hands off me," muttered Ron.

He passed the snorting Hermione and shuffled down the stairs through to the newly redecorated hallway. In just one week, the girls and Kreacher had run amok, completely transforming the interior of number twelve, Grimmauld Place into a respectably clean and safe residence.

Sirius Black's Muggle posters were difficult to remove, as Sirius had taught Harry the extra measures he'd taken to secure them in his room and Harry and Ron had conveniently forgotten that Kreacher could remove them by Apparition. Instead, variously colored tapestries from Otto's Curiosity Shop were draped over them, each depicting a scene from a different Wizarding era.

Ron spotted the bespectacled Harry sitting next to his sister, Ginny, on a large couch below Sirius's portrait. The painted Sirius was sound asleep, sprawled out over a black background. After yawning with his mouth wide, Ron greeted his sister and best friend, and noticed Harry's casual dress.

"Look at this!" said Ron when Hermione made her way downstairs. "Clearly Harry wasn't forced to dress smart!"

"It's just Hagrid," said Ginny. Hermione opened her mouth, poised to respond, but there was a crashing noise at the door. As they were expecting company, the Snape-repellent charm that guarded the front door had been temporarily lifted; even after they had learned how to remove it, Harry had elected to keep the charm in place for safety.

"Oops! Got ter be careful with these old ones, yeh know," said a deep voice from the doorway. "Mind helpin'?"

"Of course," replied a second voice that was shrill and sharp. "Step aside. _Reparo._"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny arrived in the hallway to find Hagrid setting the umbrella stand that was crafted from a hollowed troll's leg to an upright position. Hagrid was a massive half-giant, seemingly too big to be allowed, who wore a patchy moleskin coat. Behind him was an older woman with graying brown hair and a birdlike face, clad in vibrant, acidic green robes and a crooked witch's hat.

"Professor McGonagall!" cried Hermione, suddenly looking very flustered. She covertly checked her breath and adjusted her blouse. "Lovely to see - we weren't expecting - you're looking - please, come in!"

"Calm down, Hermione," said Harry, laughing lightly. "It's not as though it's Viktor Krum or anything."

"Watch it," growled Ron.

"Bes' not ter anger him, Harry!" said Hagrid jovially. He clapped Harry and Ron on their backs with his dustbin lid-sized hands; the force of the patting made them step forward involuntarily. "Yer livin' with a creature o' the night now - he's a wild animal!"

"Yes, he's a real creepy-crawlie," said Ginny.

"Oh, almos' fergot," said Hagrid, taking a seat on the sofa upon Ginny's offer. "Yeh migh' notice I've brought a friend."

"It's good to see you, Professor," said Harry, grinning, as Ron went with Kreacher to fetch the tea. "Well? What do you think?"

"It is barely recognizable," observed Professor McGonagall, surveying the room. "Magnificent work. Miss Granger is responsible, I trust?"

"Partially," said Hermione, her cheeks tinted pink. "Harry and Ron started the whole thing, then Ginny and I came and covered up the posters of half-naked women and such, with Kreacher's help."

"Oho!" Hagrid chuckled. "I remember that - I knew yeh was lookin' fer trouble, Harry."

"It was all my idea!" declared Sirius drowsily as he woke up. "These fine boys are not to be blamed!"

"Oh!" Harry smiled. "Sirius's portrait is here now, professor."

"I know; who did you think requested that Hagrid transport the portrait here?" asked Professor McGonagall, her thin lips curling into the faintest smile as Ron placed a mug of tea on the coffee table in front of her.

After Kreacher and Ron finished distributing tea, Kreacher hobbled merrily back to his room, where he'd hoarded all of the Black family heirlooms.

"So," said Hagrid, gulping a swig of hot tea without flinching. "What're yer plans fer careers n' all?"

"Ron and I are applying as Aurors very soon," said Harry, looking proud.

"A'course."

"I'm trying out for the Holyhead Harpies." Ginny smiled.

"Chaser?" asked McGonagall. Ginny nodded. "But, you know, the Harpies do need a new Seeker."

"I wasn't that good as a Seeker," said Ginny, waving the notion away with a hand.

"Oh, but you were; I watch every game at Hogwarts, and few have excelled at two different positions."

"I'm going to work at the Ministry!" said Hermione a bit too loudly, eager to match Ginny at impressing Professor McGonagall. "Sorry - er - Magical Law - I'm going to try and reform the utterly outdated laws that oppress House-Elves and Muggleborns. The Ministry needs to be fixed from within."

"I agree," said Professor McGonagall. "One lesson I believe we can take from the war is that justice, ethics, and courage must be upheld at the Ministry of Magic first and foremost if we hope to live in a safe Wizarding world."

"Oh, I must agree," droned Hermione.

During these administrative discussions, Ron found himself zoning out until his name was mentioned. After scratching an itch above his eye, he spotted a small wooden radio cabinet on a table by the window in the corner of the room where he and Harry regularly played Wizard's chess while listening to the Wizarding Wireless Network.

"Potterwatch?" asked Ron. Hagrid nodded eagerly, his beard ruffling up and down in front of him.

Harry fetched the wooden wireless from the chess table and placed it at the center of the coffee table and began tinkering with it until it received a signal. The voice of their former classmate and fellow Gryffindor Lee Jordan faded in intermittently until the signal stabilized.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you never attempt to Transfigure yourself into something you just weren't meant to be. My snout - er - nose still hurts.

"Moving right along, ladies and gentlemen, we have something of a special treat for you today. Some of our loyal listeners might recognize his voice as that of Royal, one of our broadcasters during the war, but most others will know him as Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic. Good to have you back, Royal."

"It's always good to be here on Potterwatch," replied Kingsley.

"I understand you're here to relay an exciting bit of news to our listeners?"

"I am. The War on Delirium is at an end. As it stands, the Dementor threat has been completely neutralized, and our children and loved ones are now safe from these vile creatures."

"I'm sure, Minister, that you can appreciate that that's a rather bold claim. Are you saying there's not a single Dementor left on the planet?"

"That, I cannot say. However, I can confidently state that there is no Dementor threat left in all of Great Britain. If there are one or two crawling through the marshes or over the plains, they're much too weak to harm even a child, or a warthog..."

"Truly great news, Minister," chuckled Lee.

"Indeed."

"Well, now that our souls are safe and we've got that Dementor business taken care of, let's get to the important stuff, shall we?"

"Quidditch," said Harry knowingly, to general agreement.

"Of course, I'm referring to the Quidditch World Cup!"

"Yes," said Kingsley. "It was set to take place last year, but the Wizarding world had taken such a strong hit from the war that it couldn't be done. It's back this year, and it'll be just as big as ever. In fact, it requires full Ministry attention."

"Oliver might play!" said Harry. Ron nodded.

"What?" asked Hermione, her eyes wide.

"Oliver Wood is playing for Scotland," explained Professor McGonagall, with a hint of pride in her tone. "They've got a shot at the finals. Although, Ireland is still a powerhouse."

"Any predictions?" continued Lee's voice emanating from the wooden radio cabinet. "On who it'll be?"

"It's certainly tough," said Kingsley. "But I think the smart Galleons are on a rematch between Ireland and Bulgaria. Seeker's such an important position, and it takes an entire team to thwart a good Seeker, as we all saw during the last Quidditch World Cup."

"Oh, what does he know," snarled Ron, glaring down at the radio. "Why is it that every Minister we have has no idea - er, sorry."

"Really, Ron, one day I hope you'll have got it all out of your system," sighed Hermione, though she was smiling.

"Well, Krum or no Krum, we've got to go," said Ginny. "Dad might be able to get tickets again. People have been showering him with condolences after all that happened to us...""

"Well, it sounds like a great time!" said Hagrid cheerfully, trying to stop the conversation from taking a dark turn. "A'course, I can't go. Bin' banned from the event fer life - jumped righ' off the top box tryin' ter impress them veela, yeh know. Got ter be mighty careful 'round them. Professor Dumbledore got a right kick out of it, but he was the only one..."

"Thank you, Royal. Your Minister for Magic, ladies and gentlemen!" continued Lee. "The Quidditch World Cup starts in just one month. For full details, contact the Ministry of Magic."

"Phew," said Ron as Hermione turned the volume down until Lee's voice faded into silence. "One week sooner and I'd have not been able to go, not while walking on two legs at least."

"And how are you coping, Mr. Weasley?" asked Professor McGonagall. She then smiled. "Oh, I suppose I should call you Ron now that we're no longer teacher and student."

"Then can I call you Minerva?"

"That's fine."

"It's been dog days, _Minerva_," said Ron, looking at the ceiling thoughtfully. He threw an arm around Hermione's shoulders and tugged her to his side. "But at least I've got this one here. She's taught Kreacher how to brew the Wolfsbane potion."

"Oh, it was nothing," said Hermione with red cheeks. "Kreacher's a very intelligent elf."

"How's Hogwarts?" asked Harry, nodding to Hagrid.

"She's great!" Hagrid beamed. "I've bin' tasked with buildin' a full trainin' area fer Dumbledore's Army."

"I thought the chessboard was fine," said Ginny.

"Oh, we'll still be using it, but we've put the other underground chambers to good use," explained Professor McGonagall, accepting a refill of tea. "We've also added a passage from the Erised room directly to the Hospital Wing."

"Good idea." Harry grinned. "This might be a stupid question, but the Erised room is the one that housed the Mirror of Erised, right?"

"Correct. We've renamed them; the room with the trapdoor that opens to the password 'Alohomora' has been named Fluffy's Corridor. Through the trapdoor is the Snare Chamber, which leads to the Key Hall, then to the Chess Room, and through to the Erised Room."

"Wicked," breathed Ron. "Though Ron's Chess Room might have been better, or That Room Where Ron Completely Saved The Day."

"As the group is now an official school club," continued Professor McGonagall without hesitation. "We'll be admitting the Slytherins as well." Professor McGonagall glanced at Harry.

"If you must," sighed Harry. "They might not even want to join, anyway."

"How's Scorpagog?" asked Ginny.

"Bigger, stronger, n' cuter," replied Hagrid. "Always hangin' 'round the Stone Circle fer some reason..."

Ron smirked.

"He's gettin' on great with Grawpy too," continued Hagrid. "Hardy enough ter take a bit o' punishment, n' that always helps."

"Oh!" said Hermione. "Hagrid, how are relations with the centaurs? Magorian's centaurs, I mean."

"Jus' fine - least, as fine as they're goin' ter get - they live out by Grawp's cave, yeh know. They don' mess with him, he don' mess with them. Why d'yeh ask?"

"We'll be going to meet them soon," said Ron. "We've got to return Helinora to the centaurs. She's great, but..."

"Worlds collide," supplied Hermione.

"Well, why not come by n' visit ol' Grawpy? He'd love ter see yeh."

"Yeah, that'd take our minds off of the centaurs..."


	2. Neville's Loony Goodbye

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

* * *

With four rapid _*cracks*_, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione materialized out of thin air onto a narrow hill overlooking fields of crops, clucking chickens, and a shabby-looking broom shed. As the day was at an end, the gloomy sky above the fields of the Burrow was a solid smoky gray, so that the silhouette of the big Weasley home could be seen swaying ominously above the trees.

As the young quartet jogged down the end of the hill and walked across a small dirt trail that curved around a pond beside the Burrow, nearing the building's front door, they spotted a young man standing in the open doorway. Inside, the familiar tune of Celestina Warbeck's _A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love_ was playing loudly.

"Hey, Neville," said Hermione as they arrived at the door.

"Hermione!" Neville turned around and stepped aside, revealing a young girl with the lower body of a horse. "Hello."

"Ron!" squeaked the girl. She galloped out of the house and enveloped Ron in a hug, her cinnamon-colored hair and orange Chudley Cannons shirt ruffling from the stiff breeze.

"Hey, Nora," whispered Ron soothingly, patting her back.

As the group warmly greeted the young centaur, Ron raised his chin and sniffed the scent of cooking meat. He wandered into his old home, offering Neville a greeting in the form of a pat on the shoulder in passing. When he entered the kitchen, he saw his mother frantically pacing back and forth, preparing several different meals at once.

"Need some help, mum?" asked Ron.

"Ronnie!" she exclaimed, smiling brightly. "Yes, thank you dear. If you could just peel those potatos - just there, behind you."

Ron tended to the potatos while Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Neville entered the room and each received both greetings and cooking assignments from Mrs. Weasley.

"What can I do?" asked Helinora, swishing her tail idly.

"Don't be silly, Nora," replied Mrs. Weasley while throwing a slab of meat over the fire; she had stopped calling Helinora 'dear' because of the centaur girl's insistence that she was in fact a centaur, and not a deer. "You've already done enough. I turn my back for one second and this girl runs off to hunt elk down by the stream with nothing but a rock!"

"Is that what this is?" asked Hermione, retrieving another chunk of meat.

"Yes." Helinora smiled. "Mrs. Weasley mentioned a big meal tonight for Looner's going-away party, so I wanted to help."

"Luna," corrected Neville from a counter adjacent to the pantry as he chopped carrots.

"I'm sorry." Helinora clopped into the other room, towards the sound of the radio.

"Where's dad?" asked Ron, now slicing potatos.

"Working late," said Mrs. Weasley. "With his new promotion comes new responsibility, of course."

"Did you hear about the Quidditch World Cup?" asked Harry, somewhat hopefully.

"Of course!" chuckled Mrs. Weasley. "You know Arthur considers the event to be of equal importance to the extermination of the Dementors. He and George chipped in for tickets."

"I'll chip in too," offered Harry, but Mrs. Weasley waved the notion off with a hand that clutched a large shiny knife.

"Nonsense," she said. "You're just starting out at your new home. When are you applying as Aurors?"

"Before the Quidditch World Cup," said Ron. He presented his mother with the plate of peeled and chopped potatos.

"I've already applied at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," said Hermione. "But I'm planning to go into Magical Law, after I've done some work for the House Elves. They're terribly underprivileged. In Magical Law I'm hoping to help the Muggleborns as the system is rather backwards even today."

"Really?" said Mrs. Weasley distractedly as she measured ingredients. "Well, you have this family's full support, I'll have you know. Arthur's thrilled that this family has taken on some Muggle blood."

"Thanks to you, I bet I'm dad's favorite," said Ron, smiling over his shoulder to Hermione, who suddenly became too interested in locating the salt to speak.

"You were already," said Harry. Ron raised an eyebrow. "I can tell. You're the most like Arthur, did you ever notice?"

"Now, Ron, we don't have favorites," said Mrs. Weasley, flipping the slab of elk meat over. "But, you are the most like your father. Don't tell him this, but I adore his fascination with Muggles, even find it rather cute. It's also genetic, apparently."

"I wonder if it's possible to die of blushing," said Ginny casually, observing Hermione's tomato-red cheeks.

"Oh, but I was talking about George," said Mrs. Weasley. "He's found himself a Muggle girl. He's been given a Ministry hearing for exposing Muggles to magic."

"Is he in trouble?" asked a teary-eyed Neville who was mincing onions.

"Oh, no, I don't think so," said Mrs. Weasley. "He's gained quite a bit of respect at the Ministry. Do ask him yourself, he's in the other room."

Harry peeked his head into the hallway. Through the doorway to the living room, a one-eared man with exhuberant red hair could be seen dancing wildly to the rhythm of Celestina Warbeck's music, much to the amusement of his companions, a tall black witch with braided hair and a grinning black wizard with short dreadlocks and a bandaged nose.

"What is it you're doing?" asked Lee.

"It's a Muggle dance - you've got to get into the mind of a robot."

"A what?"

"Oh, forget it - dance with me, Angelina!" sang George, swinging his arms like a monkey.

"I can't," she replied. "Safety reasons."

"Then you dance with me, Helinora!" cried George, stretching his arm out to the confused young centaur girl. "Dance the dance of - wait, who's here?"

George and his friends filed into the kitchen to investigate, tailed by Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson.

"Oh, it's just Harry Potter." George grinned. "No big deal."

"Angelina!" Hermione smiled brightly and embraced the tall witch in a hug. "It's been so long!"

"Are you staying for Luna's going-away dinner?" asked Ginny.

"Yeah," said Lee. "Though I hardly knew her, to be honest."

"She's not dying," mumbled Neville. "She'll be back in a year or two."

"Sorry, I didn't mean -"

_*CRASH*_

"Oh my!" Mrs. Weasley retrieved her wand from the kitchen counter and repaired the plate that had just shattered over the wooden floor, then magicked it onto the kitchen table. "George, stop dancing!"

"My body just responds to the rhythm," said George innocently. "How much time separates me from that elk meat, by the way?"

"Just a short while, but don't devour it." Mrs. Weasley gave Ron a furtive look then began tending to the gravy. "Oops, I'll need to go get the garlic. Ron, flip the meat, won't you?"

"Can't promise anything!" called George after his mom as she walked off into another room. He then licked his lips and slapped his stomach. "Also want to take those potatos out for a shakedown. Is that gravy? Merlin, is mum making the bacon gravy? And look at those onions!"

"Oh, stop it," warned Hermione, smirking. "Ron's starting to drool."

"Sorry." Ron turned the slab of meat as per his mother's instructions.

"Are those the Lovegoods?" asked Lee, peering through the kitchen window. "They'd pretty much have to be..."

"Yeah, that's them," said Ron, leaning next to Lee to see through the circular window.

"Oh, look, they've brought _fellow Ravenclaw Cho Chang,_" observed George. He struggled to suppress his laughter when Harry widened his eyes and Ginny rushed to the window.

"I don't see her," said Ginny as she craned her neck to get a better angle.

"Ginevra the Gullible," chuckled George. He swayed to dodge Ginny's overhand swat as Helinora giggled from the doorway.

"Probably shouldn't trick Ginny in a room with so many knives," warned Neville.

"Ah, Neville, thought I might have a word," said George. He wrapped an arm around Neville's shoulders and guided him into the other room.

There were a few knocks at the old beaten front door; a few chickens clucked alertly off in the distance. Ginny offered one last scowl in George's direction before jogging to the door, opening it, and stepping back to admit the Lovegoods, who were wearing matching robes of shining gold. Luna's presence initiated a group hug, while her father received a few handshakes and pats on the shoulder. As Luna and her father were being guided to the sitting room, Mrs. Weasley came shuffling down the wobbling staircase carrying several cloves of garlic.

"Xeno! Luna!" Mrs. Weasley offered them a quick squeeze and a few pecks on their cheeks. "Lovely to see you again. Dinner will be ready momentarily - Hermione, Ginny, George, please assort the usual arrangement of tables in the yard, won't you? Ron, Harry, Lee, I need help transporting the silverware. Angelina, Neville, dears, could you carry the food, please?"

The group scurried off to achieve their objectives. Hermione raised her chin haughtily when she was able to Locomotor three large tables into the yard at the same time and align them perfectly on the grass, but her jaw dropped when, with a small swish of the wand, George Transfigured the line of battered, scratched wooden tables into one long, smooth table complete with a white tablecloth and candles.

Ginny offered a small bit of applause before the table was pelted with knives and forks as Harry, Ron, and Lee stood in the doorway magicking silverware through the open kitchen window. Hermione crossed her arms reproachfully. Once all the cutlery had been moved, Harry and Ron approached the table and pushed the heaps of metal into their positions, while Lee and Helinora brought bowls and plates.

Luna and Xenophilius Lovegood approached the table, levitating a clump of chairs above their heads, which they then scattered around the edges of the table. Mrs. Weasley, Angelina, and Neville exited the house bearing large dishes of the chopped elk meat, gravy, potatos, onions, carrots and other goodness, which they then splayed about the long table. Mrs. Weasley's look of confusion at the new table's existence conflicted with her wide-eyed regret for trusting Neville to carry the food, as he stumbled and fell face-first into the bowl of peas just after placing the last dish on the table.

A moonless night had fallen over them, without a single star visible through the foggy clouds. The Weasley family, along with its two honorary members and other friends, began filling their plates. Ron and George expertly sought the gravy first, while the less experienced consumers of Mrs. Weasley's cooking went for the elk.

"Exquisite!" declared Xenophilius, his cheek bulging as he chewed a gob of potatos and meat. "Absolutely flawless! Consummate! Invincible!"

"Haven't you ever had Molly's cooking before?" asked Harry as Mrs. Weasley's cheeks ran red.

"Not nearly enough," stated Xenophilius. After staring into Harry's gleaming emerald eyes for a moment, his expression fell and he looked down at his plate. "Harry, I must confess, I feel ashamed. Almost too much to look you in the eye."

"Why?" Harry glanced around the table in confusion before the memory dawned on him. "Oh, that!"

"Yes," wheezed Xenophilius as he stabbed a slice of potato.

"That doesn't matter now."

"Of course it does." Xenophilius looked up. "Have you forgotten? I betrayed you - I earned your trust by supporting you, then stabbed you in the back. You and your friends - Luna's best friends..."

"Don't be silly," said Hermione awkwardly, glancing at Luna, whose expression was unreadable. "You didn't support Harry just to earn his trust."

"Maybe not, but -"

"They had your daughter," supplied Ron. "Who could blame you?"

"Cheer up, Xeno," urged George. "The war ravaged us all, didn't it? All that we knew was in danger."

"Here," said Mrs. Weasley, clearing her throat. Brandishing her wand, she guided a large green bottle over to the end of the table. "Some wine."

"Thank you all," managed Xenophilius before swilling the wine.

"Where are you going?" asked Neville from beside Luna.

"Camping," she replied. "We're going to Ireland, then Spain."

"Spain is home to many fantastic creatures," added Xenophilius.

"I read a book once that told me all about fantastic creatures, and where to find them," said Ron, grinning. Hermione laughed beside him.

"The creatures we're after can't be found in a simple textbook," said Xenophilius. Harry resisted the urge to add 'or on Earth.'

"How long will you be gone?" asked Neville.

"That is unclear," replied Xenophilius.

"How long will you be gone?" repeated Neville blankly.

"There's no scheduled return date," explained Xenophilius, raising an eyebrow.

There was a moment where only the scraping of forks and knives against plates and sipping of pumpkin juice and wine could be heard.

"So, you hunted this elk yourself?" asked Ginny, cutting through the awkward silence.

"Yes," replied Helinora, smiling. "It was an adult... I lured it close by imitating its call, then I took a rock and bashed -"

"_Ack!_" Hermione squeaked, horrified. "Please, don't tell us."

"It's good, though," said Lee.

"So, Neville," said Angelina. "I hear you're moving in with George?"

"Yeah," he said. Luna looked up at him. "Soon, actually."

"And you consciously made this decision?" asked Angelina. "You weren't Confunded? Imperiused? Drunk?"

There was a round of sniggering through the table as Neville smiled sheepishly.

"He might have been a bit drunk," said George, finishing up his meal. "Leave the man alone."

"I think it's a wonderful idea," said Mrs. Weasley. "A nice boy like Neville ought to straighten you up a bit, George."

"I think it's more likely that Neville will succumb to George's ways," said Ginny, smirking. "I fear for the population of Muggle women that live near Diagon Alley."

"Neville wouldn't do that," declared Luna in a confident tone.

"Yeah," agreed George. "He couldn't accomplish it now, but if I helped him work on those dance moves, who knows?"

"Now, George," scolded Mrs. Weasley. "Before you have a go at anyone, I should remind you that I can embarrass you much moreso than you could Neville."

"Sorry, mum," mumbled George. He rose to his feet. "Well, I'd best be off before any stories are told. Lee? Angie?"

"Yes, excuse us," said Lee, standing, along with Angelina.

George whipped his wand, and the long table rattled and morphed back into the few battered old tables. He said his goodbyes to his friends and Disapparated with a _*pop*_.

"It is a bit late," observed Harry, glancing down at his wrist and reading the time off of the watch that had once belonged to Fabian Prewett.

* * *

Luna, Xenophilius, and Neville trudged up a hill that overlooked the valley where the Burrow was situated, heading towards a tall tower in the distance. Neville stuck closely beside Luna, who was gripping his hand firmly. As they neared the Lovegood house, which was tall and cylindrical like a chess rook, Xenophilius stopped by the garden and ripped a few small plants from the ground. They looked like green onions.

"Gurdyroots," he explained. "I'll make Gurdyroot tea. Guests often ask how it's made."

Neville followed the Lovegoods past the hand-painted signs that warned visitors to keep off the Dirigible Plums and into their tall home. He stood awkwardly as Xenophilius prepared the foul-smelling Gurdyroot tea. Neville surveyed the house, turning 360 degrees where he stood. He noticed that everything in the house was curved to fit the room's cylindrical shape; not just the walls, but the stove, sink, and cupboards, which were painted with flowers, insects, and birds, all in bright primary colors.

At the center of the room, a tall wrought-iron spiral staircase led to the upper levels of the house. Xenophilius weaved around the staircase and instructed Neville and Luna to follow him upstairs. When Neville reached the room above, he saw tall wooden shelves similar to those of the Hogwarts library and tall piles of books and papers on the desks, chairs, and floor. Neville spotted an inactive wooden box with several knobs and gears, and deduced that it was the printing press Xenophilius used to print _The Quibbler_.

"Sit, please," said Xenophilius.

Neville looked around awkwardly for an open space, and sighed in relief when Luna brushed several papers off of a nearby couch and gestured for him to sit beside her.

"I understand that you are - ahem - _'dating'_ my Luna." Neville gulped and shook slightly; one of Xenophilius's eyes was looking at him, and the other was looking at Luna. "Pardon me, but I find the concept of _'dating'_ arbitrary, if not dull and contemptible."

"We're dating," said Luna. "We were, at least. We've decided to stop, since we'll be apart. It's for the best."

"Ah." Xenophilius rubbed his chin. "Luna tells me you're magically gifted. A Gryffindor, as well."

"I suppose - I don't know about 'gifted,' but I am a Gryffindor."

"Forgive me, but you don't seem courageous."

"He withdrew the Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat," said Luna. "Dumbledore said only a true Gryffindor is capable of that."

"It's true," said Xenophilius, raising his eyebrows. "The sword only answers to Gryffindors, Godric Gryffindor made sure of that."

After a while, there was a light melodic humming from the floor below. It reminded Neville of the Hogwarts choir.

"That'll be the kettle," explained Xenophilius, spotting Neville's confused look. "Excuse me."

Xenophilius ambled down the wrought-iron spiral staircase and out of sight. Neville sighed the tension away and glanced at Luna, who was smiling.

"I believe daddy likes you," she said.

"He seemed a bit skeptical of me." Neville looked down.

"That's odd," said Luna, smiling lightly. "Nobody's ever called us 'skeptical.'"

"Fair point," chuckled Neville. "I guess he was ... cautious."

"Oh, well, he's obligated to be protective of me, I suppose."

"I know what that's like. I'm protective of you too."

"That's nice." Luna beamed. "I don't like when everyone makes fun of you either."

Neville glanced into her protuberant eyes and found his breath becoming shallow. He leaned in closer to her, but stopped just before their lips collided, as he heard Xenophilius returning with the rattling tray of tea. He shot back in his seat, tapping his foot to appear casual, leaving Luna sitting there comically with closed eyes and puckered lips for a few seconds before she realized he'd pulled away.

"Here we are," said Xenophilius as he stepped up from the stairs.

He placed the tray of tea atop a stack of books on his desk and handed warm, full cups to Neville and Luna. Neville thought the beige teacups with their pink and blue paintings of rabbits would be quite pleasant if it weren't for the odious green liquid filling them.

"I painted them," said Luna. "With my mother, when I was young. I liked hares."

"Isn't your Patronus a hare?" asked Neville. She nodded.

"An excellent Patronus," added Xenophilius. "Mine is a will-o-wisp. What's yours, Neville?"

"I - er ... I've never been able to cast one, sir," said Neville.

Xenophilius laughed riotously.

"Well, it's difficult!" defended Neville. Xenophilius shook his head.

"No, you called me 'sir,'" he explained. Neville grinned and shrugged.

Xenophilius took a sip of his tea, then promptly went limp and flopped onto the ground. Neville shot to his feet and inspected Xenophilius's body, but Luna remained calm. Neville flipped Xenophilius over and examined his face.

"Luna, he's fainted!" exclaimed Neville.

"That can happen with Gurdyroot tea," she said. "He's asleep. Listen."

Neville stopped and closed his eyes, and began to hear light snoring.

"Oh. Well, I'd better just..." Neville closed Xenophilius's eyelids with his fingertips and placed his cup of tea down on the desk. "What should we do? Is there an antidote? A spell?"

"Actually, I was thinking you could kiss me." Luna smiled. "I know you didn't want to in front of my father."

"Let's g-go up to your room, then," said Neville. Luna nodded and helped Neville hoist Xenophilius onto the couch and Neville piled a bunch of papers under the slumbering man's head to act as a pillow.

When Neville climbed the staircase to the next level, he found that Luna had decorated her ceiling with five beautifully painted faces: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and himself. They were not moving like the portraits at Hogwarts, but they were different from Muggle pictures, shifting slightly as if they were breathing. The pictures were linked together by golden chains that formed one word repeated thousands of times: _friends._

"Here," said Luna, crossing the pale blue carpeted floor and sitting on her bed.

Neville followed and sat beside her. Without wasting any time, he slithered his arms around her back and pulled her into his chest, so that their lips connected. He felt her arms wrap around his neck and squeeze him tightly when their lips met, and returned her embrace by tightening his hold around her waist. After a lengthy kiss where tongues wrestled, areas were grabbed, and moans vibrated, Neville pulled away far enough to look into her eyes.

"I'll miss you."

"I know." Luna's mouth twitched, and Neville noticed water pooling in her eyes. "It'll be sad, won't it?"

"Don't cry, please," said Neville, before offering her another kiss.

"I know I'm not supposed to."

"You can around me, but... I suppose it's just weird to see."

"Okay." Luna glanced up at the ceiling, at the pictures of her friends. "I'll miss them. They're good friends, but they don't understand me as much as you do."

"It's a bold claim, but I think I understand you." Neville smiled. "You'll be back before you know it anyway, right?"

"It won't be too long, I expect."

"Be sure to come back soon. I don't want to grow apart, you know?"

"I know, and the others, as well. I don't really want to leave my friends, and I think Daddy knows that, but he doesn't want to grow apart either." Luna tilted her head. "We are being a bit dramatic, aren't we?"

"Yeah." Neville grinned. "Hey, do you want to - er - um..."

"Yes." Luna smiled.

Before Neville could register her response, he found his shirt being yanked over his head. He raised his arms to comply, and soon his shirt had been chucked off to the floor somewhere. Neville leaned over Luna, pushing her down over her bed and leaning down to kiss her throat. He sighed happily as he felt her smooth skin pumping when she breathed and whiffed the scent of her light blonde hair. Neville blindly groped around his shin to withdraw his wand from its holster and executed the nonverbal contraceptive charm he'd learned from George earlier that night.

Before long, Neville found himself staring at her bare chest, and sat there, frozen, feeling his heart pumping against his ribs. Luna cackled loudly at Neville, who looked like a wide-eyed statue. Neville smiled gratefully when she guided his hands to her, and soon they were tangled together, wrestling each other's clothes off and kissing wildly, until they finally became one. Luna whimpered slightly when they connected, and Neville noticed the sparkle of tears gliding down her cheeks, that he knew had nothing to do with physical pain.

They continued through the night, stopping at increasingly infrequent intervals to rest and cuddle. When Neville turned over to be on bottom, he swore he glimpsed the semi-still portrait of Ron Weasley giving him a congratulatory wink. During one of their breaks, after he'd lost count of how many sessions they'd had, he felt Luna fall asleep against his shoulder. He wanted to tell her he'd miss her, but worried she might cry again. Before he could pluck up the courage, he lost consciousness and drifted to sleep.


	3. TPS Reports

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

* * *

"Wake up, Ron!"

"Rrgh." Ron scrunched his eyes, curled into a ball, and attempted to block the familiar voice by burrowing his head underneath his pillow.

"_Ron!_" snarled the frustrated bushy-haired girl as she loomed over the side of the bed and removed the pillow from the slumbering orange-haired boy's head, then proceeded to whack him over the shoulder with it. "Get up!"

"Why?" snapped Ron. He turned over on his stomach and dug his face into the bed to shield his eyes from the light.

"I'm starting at the Ministry today and you and Harry are applying there." Hermione prodded him in the ribs, making him twitch. "Don't make me use my wand. I could go find a spider in Kreacher's room..."

"I'm up!" insisted Ron. He rolled over onto his back and sat up, pulling his blanket up over his chest. "_Bloody hell._"

When Ron opened his eyes he was struck by the blinding polygon of sunlight that shone through the thin red curtains of the bedroom he shared with Hermione. He held his hand up facing the window so that its shadow relieved his squinting eyes from the light. When he rose to his feet, he heard Hermione stride out through the door and down the hall towards the bathroom.

He exhaled his usual morning yawn and rubbed his groggy eyes with his knuckles as he approached his dresser, mumbling something about getting new curtains. He slid one of the drawers open, reached his hand into the jungle of shirts and pants and withdrew the only item of clothing he'd bothered to fold: the new cobalt blue robes he'd bought for the occasion. He unfolded them and swung them over his shoulders, slipping his arms into the sleeves.

"Magical Maintenance?" asked a voice from the doorway. Ron turned to find a bespectacled boy with inky black hair and similarly colored wizard's robes. "I thought you'd be applying as an Auror."

"Magical Maintenance workers wear navy robes," said Ron. "These are 'cobalt,' according to Hermione. Besides, after our little romp through Ministry they'd sooner make me Minister of Magic than have me working Magical Maintenance ever again."

"Still can't believe we succeeded that day," said Harry, shaking his head.

"We were doing fine until a certain Boy Who Lived thought it necessary to steal Moody's eye from Umbridge's door," said Hermione, joining Harry in the doorway. "Are you ready, Ron?"

"Hold on," replied Ron, retrieving his wand from the bedside table and flicking it once. "_Accio shoe!_"

Ron's shoe shot from under his dresser directly into his forehead, causing him to stumble onto his bed and fall off the other side. He rose from behind the bed, glaring grumpily at his sniggering friends, then sat down to tie his shoes.

"Where's Ginny?" he asked.

"She gets to sleep in," sighed Harry.

"Should have been a Quidditch player," muttered Ron. He stood and raised his arms to display his robes. "All right. What do you think?"

"Marvelous," declared Harry, yawning again. "Let's go, then, shall we?"

"Your potion, Master Ronald," croaked a gravely voice from behind Harry and Hermione.

They stepped aside to reveal Kreacher the House-Elf, who was hobbling towards Ron carrying a small vial in an outstretched hand.

"Thanks, Kreacher," said Ron. He accepted the vial and placed it on the long potion rack on the far side of the room.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione jogged down the stairs of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, towards the hallway. The hallway had no windows; it was illuminated by a shining silver chandelier that emitted a metallic chime whenever somebody used the staircase beside it. After Harry decided against wearing the gray bowler hat that hung on a hook by the door, the origins of which were unknown, the trio approached the fireplace that Sirius used to use to speak to Harry in the Gryffindor Common Room.

"If you end up in Knockturn Alley," said Ron as he watched Harry grasp a fistful of Floo powder. "You can use George's shop to try again."

"It was my first time," growled Harry, the eyes behind his glasses narrowing. He stepped into the fireplace and threw the clump of Floo powder down over the flames, and said, "_Ministry of Magic!_"

"My first time using Floo powder was entirely successful," commented Hermione as the fire roared in a burst of green flames that consumed Harry until he vanished.

"He said 'Diaganilly,'" explained Ron. "After you."

"Why do you always ask me to go first?" Hermione stuffed her hand into the jug of Floo powder and withdrew a handful, using her other hand to catch the streams of powder that leaked through her fingers.

"You get that determined look." Ron grinned innocently. "It's adorable."

"Fine, then." Hermione hopped into the crackling fire confidently and opened her hand, sending Floo powder cascading over the flames, while saying, "_Ministry of Magic!_"

Ron imitated his friends and found himself ejected from a handsome gold-plated Ministry fireplace moments later. Upon looking up, he saw that he'd been spat out into a vast and splendid hall with reflective, polished dark wood floors. The ceiling, which burned a deep peacock blue like the sky moments before sunrise, was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that were changing shape as well.

He stood and brushed himself off, looking around the long and crowded hall for his two friends. On one side of the hall, whence he came, Ron heard a witch or wizard emerging from the many fireplaces with a soft whoosh every few seconds, while, on the other side, queues of witches and wizards had lined up before each fireplace, waiting to depart.

Halfway down the hall was a large fountain with four golden statues in the middle of its circular pool. Ron had heard from Hermione that the statue had been a relic of the notion of wizard supremacy even before it said _Magic is Might_, with its prominent witch and wizard, surrounded by adoring servants.

It was different now: there was no witch, only a tall, elderly wizard with a long beard. He stood smiling wistfully with a sort of twinkle in the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles that rested upon his crooked nose. He was flanked by a tall, proud-looking centaur clenching an arrow in his fist with a bow slung around his muscular chest, a dwarfish goblin with long, bony fingers and pointed ears, and a smiling House-Elf with bulging eyes as big as tennis balls and thin, knobby knees. Sparkling streams of water were flowing from the tip of the wizard's peculiar wand, the House-Elf's ears, the tip of the Goblin's hat, and the head of the centaur's arrow. At the base of the fountain, engraved in a loopy, slanted font, were the words _Peace is Power_.

Ron wandered through the sea of witches and wizards towards the shimmering golden statues, dimly hearing whispers of his own name as several Ministry workers and visitors recognized him. Ron stopped before the fountain, placing his palms on its stone edge and leaning in to get a closer look. He noticed a glimmer of gold in the rippling water and looked down to see that several bronze Knuts, silver Sickles, and gold Galleons had been tossed into the circular pool.

"Blimey," breathed Ron. He plunged his hand in to scoop out a nearby Galleon.

"It's Dumbledore," said a voice from behind him.

Ron shrieked and ripped his hand from the pool, sending water splashing over the polished wooden floor. He turned around, smiling innocently, and spotted a pair of golden horn-rimmed glasses staring back at him, attached to a slender man with neat, copper-colored hair and shamrock green robes. Ron heard a few onlookers sniggering as he covertly pocketed the Galleon.

"Brilliant," sneered Percy. Ron scowled. "As I was saying, it's Dumbledore. Look at the wand."

"You're right," said Ron, recognizing the wand upon further inspection. "It's the Elder Wand."

"Indeed."

"Where's Harry? Hermione?"

"Kingsley was waiting for Harry. Whisked him off to the Auror Department before there was too much commotion. You'd be amazed at how much chaos can ensue here. He's asked me to show you the way."

"What about Hermione?" Ron grinned. "Did she see the new fountain?"

"She quite liked it," said Percy. "She's off to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"The House-Elf still looks a bit pathetic," observed Ron.

"I agree." Percy pointed a finger at an aging wizard in navy blue robes. "Cattermole! I want this House-Elf seven inches taller!"

Cattermole's scoff told Ron that the House-Elf wasn't going to grow any time soon. They began to walk towards the golden gates at the end of the hall. Percy nudged Ron's elbow then nodded towards a short, pudgy witch with a toadlike face and bulging, frightened-looking eyes. She was being escorted through the gates rather forcefully by two tall blonde witches in brick-colored robes.

"Magical Security," explained Percy in a whisper.

He sped up to walk alongside the two guards. When Ron jogged to catch up, he noticed Percy giggling daftly and grinning at the red-robed security witches, who Ron then realized were identical twins. Ron rolled his eyes and smirked at his brother.

Soon they arrived at an elevator with wrought golden grilles that swung open to admit them, then banged back together with a clash after the elevator doors slid shut. They were joined by the stout prisoner and the twin amazon-like guards, as well as several floating paper airplanes that were darting around overhead. The elevator jerked around slightly and began to ascend, its chains rattling all the while.

"_Level seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office,_" echoed a cool, soothing female voice through the elevator. The doors swung open and a few witches and wizards made to step in, then spotted Umbridge and decided to wait for the next lift.

"Morning, Delores," said Ron, staring into the pudgy witch's bulging eyes. His lips formed a grin from cheek to cheek. "How are you?"

"_Level six, Department of Magical Transport, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparation Test Center,_" continued the voice.

"I'm Percy." Percy smiled at the red-robed guards. They eyed him coldly.

"Deputy to the Minister," he continued. "It's nothing, really."

"We're very happy for you," said one of the girls. Ron snorted.

"_Level five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law, and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats._"

A moment passed where only the rattling of the lift's grilles could be heard.

"_Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions,Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau._"

"What are your names?" asked Percy.

"Charlotte," said the one clutching Umbridge's right elbow.

"Lydia," said the one to Umbridge's left.

"Excellent names," said Percy, smiling. The twins eyed each other.

"_Level three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee._"

"What're you in for?" asked Ron, nodding to Umbridge. Umbridge looked to the floor with narrowed eyes. "Oh, I knew it. Unregistered Animagus!"

Umbridge looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"You're bloody dog-faced," Ron explained. "I thought that was obvious."

"That's enough, Ron," warned Percy. "She'll be taken care of."

"_Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services._"

"That's us," said Percy. "After you, ladies."

The wrought gold gates clanged open; a few of the frantically flying paper airplanes shot into the corridor and went their separate ways. Percy stepped back as the two tall women pushed Umbridge through the door of the elevator and walked off toward the staircase that led to the dungeons.

"I hate that woman," mumbled Percy. "This way, Ron."

Ron followed Percy out of the lift into a corridor lined with doors. There were windows that displayed a fierce thunderstorm outside, even though they were underground.

"Magical Maintenance," explained Percy. "I suspect when they get a pay raise, the weather displayed in these windows will be crisp and clear. Terribly demanding. If you're going to work here, you ought to make friends with them."

"They've got a tough job," mumbled Ron. Percy didn't appear to have heard him.

"This is Auror Headquarters," said Percy, once they reached a set of heavy oak doors. "You'll fill out an application. Here, take this."

Percy withdrew a long black crow's feather quill from his pocket and handed it to Ron.

"It'll fix spelling and grammatical mistakes. Also, try to avoid writing 'irregardless.' The quill hates that. Just the other day, a young boy was sent to St. Mungo's because of one of these -"

"Ron!" called a familiar voice. Ron turned to see the short, wavy blonde hair and gaunt face of his former classmate Ernie Macmillan, who was jogging towards him in silky black robes. "All right, Ron? Percy?"

"Great," replied Ron. "You applying as an Auror too?"

"Naturally."

"We should go in," said Percy.

Ron walked through the heavy oak doors and into the Auror Headquarters sandwiched between Percy and Ernie. He found himself wondering which of them had the bigger ego. The Auror Headquarters was a cluttered open space divided into cubicles. Memos were zooming between the cubicles, often colliding in mid-air.

Percy, Ron, and Ernie walked through the grid of cubicles, and Ron couldn't help but peek into each one he passed. The Aurors had covered their cubicle walls with everything from pictures of wanted wizards and photographs of their family, to posters of their favorite Quidditch team. One of them, occupied by a middle-aged witch with an eyepatch, was supporting the Chudley Cannons.

"Harry!" exclaimed Ernie. "Hello, Minister."

Harry Potter was standing by a large cauldron at the end of the aisle, conversing with a tall broad-shouldered black man whose pinstriped Muggle business suit clashed with the robes of those around him.

"Ernie! Ron!" Harry grinned. "Come, have some coffee."

Harry and Kingsley retrieved wooden mugs from the table beside the cauldron, which Ron and Ernie now noticed was filled to half with bubbling, milky brown liquid. They placed the mugs under a nozzle at the base of the cauldron and Kingsley pressed his wand against it. Coffee streamed from the nozzle into the mugs until he removed his wand and handed the mugs to Ron and Ernie.

"Whipped cream?" offered Kingsley. Ron declined. "Can't get enough of the stuff, personally."

"Why the Muggle clothing?" asked Ron.

"I'm meeting the Muggle Prime Minister today." Kingsley smiled kindly.

"Can we apply now?" asked Harry.

"There's another applicant scheduled for today. She should be here any minute. The application is a simple questionnaire. We've received your N.E.W.T. results already."

"Is she anyone we know?" asked Ron.

"Doubtul. She's from Australia." Kingsley spotted something down the aisle whence Ron and Ernie came. "Ah, that must be her. Clarinda Murdoch, come here!"

Ron turned to see a girl with short black hair that surrounded her face, and shadowy makeup around her eyes that made her eyelashes look thick. She appeared to have been wandering into random cubicles, and stopped when her name was called. Her eyes shifted from Kingsley, to Harry, to Ron, widening gradually.

"That's me!" she said, before practically skipping over to them. "Hello, Minister."

"Hello, Clarinda." Clarinda wrung Kingsley's hand. "You'll be applying with these gentlemen here."

"Nice to meet you," said Ernie. "I'm Ernie Macmillan."

"Hello." Clarinda shook Ernie's hand. "Clarinda Murdoch."

"Hi," said Harry. "I'm -"

"Harry Potter!" she said, squeezing Harry's hand. He sighed. "And you must be Ron Weasley. Hey, your face doesn't look like a frying pan!"

"Thanks..."

"Hello, guys," said a voice from behind them. Clarinda jumped, startled. The group turned to see George Weasley, with his one ear and magenta robes. "Kingsley, you wanted to see me?"

"Ah, yes, please wait in my office," said Kingsley. He dropped his voice, and then continued, "Best not to be seen, either."

"Understood," replied George. He slapped Ron and Harry on their shoulders, wished them luck, then walked off and disappeared behind a corner.

"You'll be applying in here," said Kingsley, gesturing towards an empty office. Ron and Ernie set their coffee down and followed Harry and Clarinda into the room. There were four desks pushed together at the center of the room, each with a stack of papers piled on it. "Leave the applications on the desks when you're finished. You have forty-five minutes. Good luck, and relax."

"Thanks, Kingsley," said Harry.

"Wonder what George's doing here," whispered Ron once Kingsley had left.

"Probably about that hearing for exposing Muggles to magic," said Harry. "And to other unspeakable things..."

"Silence, if you please!" demanded Ernie.

Ron growled grumpily and started scribbling onto his parchment. Harry noticed Ron's crow-feather quill jerking and guiding his hand occasionally when he attempted to misspell a word or construct a sentence incorrectly.

"You're not quite that tall, mate," whispered Ron, leaning over to inspect Harry's sheet.

"Quiet," snapped Harry.

"What did you put under 'Valued Qualifications?'" continued Ron. "Is that supposed to be stuff I'm proud of?"

"I think so. See, I've put 'I killed Voldemort.'"

"Oh, that sure helps me," mumbled Ron.

"You've done plenty. Look, here, I'm adding all of our D.A. stuff, as well as teaching, and our first few years."

"I don't know why you're fussing," said Clarinda, leaning her head into their huddle. "You two are overqualified, if anything."

There were a few moments where all that could be heard was the scratching of quills against parchment and a few yelps when Ron's quill began pecking him over the use of a split infinitive.

"Finished," said Ernie. He stowed his quill in his bag. "Quite simple, really."

"Sure, anyone can apply," said Clarinda, straightening the pages of her application and putting her quill away. "I've read that it's the training that decides who becomes an Auror, not the application process. The training is meant to be grueling."

"It doesn't rely on reams of useless tests and paperwork? Don't tell Hermione..." Ron placed his quill down at his desk. It trembled with cold fury. "Finished."

"Hermione Granger?" asked Clarinda hopefully. Ron nodded.

"I've finished." Harry smirked proudly, glancing down at his stack of papers. "It's overkill, really."

"Well, I've got to go," said Ernie. He stood and threw the strap of his bag over his shoulder. "Goodbye. It was nice meeting you, Clarinda. See you all in training."

"Want to have lunch together?" asked Clarinda after Ernie had left.

"Sure, once we find Hermione." Harry stood and led the way out into the Auror Headquarters and through the heavy oak doors.

"Where did you go to school?" he asked. "We went to Hogwarts."

"Obviously!" Clarinda smiled brightly. Harry raised his eyebrows. "I went to the Merlin Academy in Melbourne. It's not like Hogwarts at all, from what I've read. It's disguised as a Muggle building, like this Ministry."

"Hold up, she's in here," said Ron, stopping short of the elevator. He pointed down a nearby hallway. "Looks like she's visiting dad."

They followed Hermione into a corridor that was identified as the _Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects_ by a narrow lopsided sign on the wall. There were several witches and wizards tinkering with various shady products, and a few grizzled-looking elders in white robes with badges that read 'specialist' could be seen carefully examining artifacts of Dark magic through the window of a sealed room at the end of the corridor.

"Hermione!" called Ron, just before Hermione reached the door to Mr. Weasley's office. Hermione turned around and smiled, waiting for them to reach her.

"How'd it go?" asked Hermione.

"It was easy!" said Clarinda. Hermione tensed her eyebrows in confusion. "Oh! Sorry. I'm Clarinda. I applied too."

"I'm Hermione," replied Hermione, slightly taken aback. "Nice to meet you."

"Ernie was there too," said Harry.

"Oh, good. That means he'll be in your squad in training, if he was in your application group."

"She knows more about our jobs than we do," said Ron, grinning. His eyes scanned the sign beside the door to Mr. Weasley's office, which read: 'Arthur Weasley, Head of the Department.'

Then, the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged, ginger-haired, slightly balding man. He adjusted his circular spectacles and smiled at the group of people before him.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley." Clarinda was the first to speak. "I'm Clarinda."

"Welcome, Clarinda. All right, Ron? Harry? Hermione?" Mr. Weasley stepped back into his office and conjured a set of ordinary wooden chairs surrounding his desk. "Come in!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Clarinda sat in a circle around Mr. Weasley's desk. Hermione withdrew three packed lunches from her beaded bag and slid two of them across the desk to Harry and Ron. Mr. Weasley removed a white foam take-out container from a plastic bag and placed it on his desk. Clarinda reached into her brown paper lunch bag and pulled its contents out: a doughy ball of brown mush with bits of green scattered about it.

"Sandwich wad," she explained. "I was pressed for time."

"Here," said Mr. Weasley. He opened his box and began cutting his gyro in half, then handed half to Clarinda. "Muggles love this. They call it a gyro. Or is it 'heero?' I'll have to put Perkins on the case of finding the right pronunciation."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," said Clarinda, though her eyes gazed at the gyro longingly.

"Nonsense. Take it. Hermione, how's your first day been?"

"Busy, but good." Hermione nibbled on a chip while Ron chomped half of his sandwich away.

"And you two?"

"The application was easy," said Harry.

"You'll be accepted. Don't worry. They accept many; few survive."

"You mean ... People die in Auror training?" asked Ron, staring in shock. A slice of pickle fell from his mouth.

"Heavens no," said Mr. Weasley. "I meant the training is difficult."

There were a few minutes of quiet munching before everyone had finished their food; Clarinda's sandwich wad was the only survivor. Clarinda said her goodbyes and left the office, skipping off towards the elevators.

"Ron, did you hear about the incident at the Lovegoods'?" asked Mr. Weasley. "Don't worry, they're fine. It happened at about eight in the morning - I heard it myself - someone blew a hole through the side of Luna's bedroom. I went to investigate and found Xenophilius repairing it. They were in a bit of a hurry to leave."

"Perhaps they found another Erumpent horn," suggested Hermione. "Though it could be anything with them."

"Didn't you ask them what it was?" asked Harry.

"He wouldn't tell me, and I was in no hurry to force it out of him. He was quite grumpy."

"That is odd," said Hermione. Her chewing got slower as she stared at the ceiling in thought. "I'll have to write to her and ask."

"How's Helinora?" asked Ron.

"Excellent! She loves the open fields, and we've never had a bigger food supply. You're welcome to have some."

"I'll tell Kreacher," said Harry. Hermione scowled. "_What?_ Did you not taste that elk?"

"He's got enough on his mind with the Wolfsbane," she said, crossing her arms. "Isn't that right, Ro-"

"Don't you ask him for backup!" said Harry quickly. Ron sighed in relief. "Fine, I won't ask Kreacher. I'll do it myself."

"George stopped by earlier," said Mr. Weasley, grinning at Hermione's triumphant beaming. "Said he came to watch Umbridge's trial. I suspect he's been ejected from the building by now. He said he's working on something big, yet again, but wouldn't divulge the details."

"Not again," sighed Hermione. "I fear for the safety of the Wizarding world."

"And the Muggle world," supplied Harry.

"Can't stop him though, I'm afraid," said Mr. Weasley. "Just keep your wands close."

"And your enemies closer," added Ron wisely. There was a brief moment of confusion from Ron's words, before Harry and Hermione erupted in a fit of sniggering.


	4. Fire in the Sky

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

* * *

Harry Potter was bleeding.

In the darkness of the kitchen in number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Harry was attempting to quietly transport a thick barrel-shaped bundle of various frozen meats, which weighed more than his school trunk, to the big wooden closet that had been enchanted with a Cooling Charm to act as their freezer. He had lugged the goods halfway through the kitchen with a Locomotor charm before tripping up and breaking his concentration, which resulted in a heavy block of icy meat thwamping down onto his bare foot.

"E-Everything's fine!" shouted Harry after faintly hearing Ginny calling out to him.

Harry attempted to yank his throbbing foot from under the block, but it was wedged too tightly. Employing a few of Uncle Vernon's choicest swear words, he placed his palms on the cylindrical bundle and rolled it forward. He soon found out that there was a slight slope on the wooden floor of the kitchen, as the package of meat gained momentum and rampaged through the kitchen like a powerful tumbleweed, sweeping one of the legs of the kitchen table out so that the table fell on its side and showered the ground with silverware and candles.

"I'm going to kill Hermione," growled Harry. He wondered if the clump of meat was too heavy for Kreacher to carry by Apparition. "I'm _fine_, Ginny! Don't come down!"

Harry examined his trembling foot and discovered a cut near his ankle; he quelled the bleeding by conjuring a small strip of white cloth and bandaging the wound. He then noticed that one of his toes had been crushed and was now bent the wrong way.

"_Episkey!_" breathed Harry, grimacing in preparation for the painful spell. His toe snapped into place with a gruesome _crack_ and the bone mended. "Bugger, that hurts!"

With a quick Reparo, the table stood and reunited with its missing leg. Harry moved the silverware to the drawer next to the sink by hand to make sure he didn't find some way to botch the job. He vented his frustrations by shooting the block of meat through to the freezer closet with a powerful Reductor and trotted out of the kitchen and through the living room.

"Could you perhaps draw me a pair of ear plugs?" asked Sirius Black grumpily, laying down in his portrait. "Or else refrain from dueling in the kitchen at night?"

"Sorry, Sirius," said Harry in passing. "Good night."

He jogged up the black wooden stairs, hearing the light chime of the silver chandelier on the ceiling beside them, and continued up the second flight of stairs that led to the bathroom. He entered the bathroom and quietly closed the door behind him, then leaned over the sink and cranked the knob designated 'hot.' He ran the water over the white bandage he'd conjured, then hoised his leg onto the bathtub and bent down to wipe his foot clean before the blood crusted.

While he was on the top floor, he decided to check on Ron and Hermione, as the moon overhead was complete and bright. He stalked through the hall until he reached Ron and Hermione's room, then slipped the brass lion's head-shaped handle through his fingers and silently turned it. He pushed the door open slightly to peek through the opening with one eye; Hermione was sleeping normally on her side of the bed, while the currently lupine Ron was curled up at the foot of the bed.

Harry felt his anger from the kitchen incident melt away, and his pained grimace was replaced by a warm smile. He hobbled down the stairs towards the room he shared with Ginny and opened it casually, knowing her to be awake. He found her sitting in bed with the blanket pulled over her waist, reading _Harry Potter and the Interview with Rita Skeeter_.

"Another midnight duel?" she asked, without looking up from her book. "Or did you invite Hagrid over?"

"Hey, leave Hagrid alone," muttered Harry. He removed his glasses and dropped them on the table by his side of the bed and slipped under the blanket next to Ginny.

"I can't figure out why you liked Cho." Ginny put the book down on her lap. "According to Rita, you fancied her before you even knew her."

"I thought she was pretty." Harry swept in to kiss Ginny's lips while he still could, as he suspected his access might be restricted should they continue this conversation. Ginny appeared to have known this, as her eyes narrowed when he broke away. "I was fourteen. Besides, who are you to accuse me of having liked someone before I knew them?" he added, raising an eyebrow.

"Fair point," agreed Ginny, her cheeks tinted pink.

"You know not to trust anything that old bat says. I reckon in the next one she'll have me intentionally getting into trouble because the pain of Umbridge's detentions gives me sick pleasure."

"Oh yes, you're deeply disturbed; It's why I like you."

"Never could make sense of what women want."

Ginny scoffed, then held up the book and said, "I know."

"Worked out in the end, though, didn't it?"

"It did. Did you hear about the game? Scotland won. Oliver's going to be Keeper at the World Cup."

"He must be thrilled. I'm sure he's devised an incredibly complex plan and forced his fellow Scots to train on three minutes' sleep."

"You know who they'll be facing, don't you?"

"Bulgaria." Harry grinned.

"You know what that means, don't you?" Ginny grinned as well.

"We'll be going to the Quidditch World Cup with the biggest fan Scotland's ever had."

"It's going to be great."

"What about you? When are you trying out for the Harpies?"

"They're not going to hold tryouts until after the World Cup."

"You'll be brilliant." Harry swept in for another kiss, then turned away from her and went to sleep on his side.

"Harry?" Harry felt Ginny nuzzling into his back. "What's that noise?"

"Drat." Harry sighed. "I've left the water running in the bathroom. I'll be right back."

Ginny watched Harry wander through their bedroom without equipping his glasses and disappear through the doorway.

_*CRASH*_

* * *

Dawn approached the fields surrounding the town of Ottery St. Catchpole, where the tall and swaying Burrow was situated in a valley tucked away from the town by big green hills. The Burrow was cluttered with stray planks of wood, missing roof tiles, and other wear and tear. It shifted dangerously in the breeze, but, by Arthur Weasley's skill in Charms, still remained sturdy.

The twilit skies were a gloomy teal hue, and did little to illuminate the Weasley home. Several shadowy figures were gathered at the front door, conversing in dazed voices that were interrupted by occasional yawns. Beyond a far hill, an animal could be heard galloping freely over the plains.

Ron Weasley was among the cloaked group, and looked the sleepiest of all, with his frequent open-mouthed yawns and murky eyes. Though a week had passed since his transformation at the beginning of the month, his face still bore the remnants of aged-looking lining, with faint shadows around his eyes. He was looking around as if to find someone hiding among the group of witches and wizards around him.

"Where's George?" he asked.

"I've told you, Ron," said Mr. Weasley distractedly. He was checking his watch. "George is set to go with Lee, Angelina, and Neville by Portkey."

Mrs. Weasley jogged through the front door in a thick traveling cloak and kicked it shut with her heel, then began passing small brown sacks among the group. Ron begrudgingly pocketed his, noting the soft lump of bread and meat inside.

"Sandwiches," Mrs. Weasley explained. "Come, we'd best be off."

The gathering of witches and wizards followed her up a nearby hill that led to a deep forest with high-branched pine trees. The group was seven deep: Mr. Weasley, bespectacled, thin, and balding; Mrs. Weasley, with her kind brown eyes and usual warm smile; Ron, tall and gangly; Harry, his jet black hair in a state of chaos; Hermione, with her similarly impossible-to-manage bushy brown hair and good posture; Ginny, who had her mother's eyes and vibrant red hair; and Percy, with his neat appearance, impatient frown, and horn-rimmed glasses.

"What's the Portkey going to be?" asked Harry as they entered a thicket of tall trees.

"A plank of wood," replied Mr. Weasley, while unfolding his cloth pouch and taking a bite out of the soft and doughy corned beef sandwich inside. "Shouldn't be too hard to find."

"Why couldn't we have Apparated?" asked Ginny.

"Because, it's been blocked to Apparition," explained Percy haughtily. "One of the extra measures the Minister's taking to avoid discovery by Muggles. Often a witch or wizard will miss their mark, and, in the worst scenario imaginable, splinch themselves and end up in a Muggle hospital with no possible explanation as to what's happened to them."

"Then they'd end up with their skin sewn back together by some butcher," said Mrs. Weasley pointedly. Mr. Weasley suddenly became too interested in his sandwich clump to notice.

"Is that it?" asked Ron, when they'd reached a clearing. There was a small wooden board on the ground, with various bent nails protruding from it.

"Yes, I think so," replied Percy. He kneeled down to examine the husk of wood, then looked up at the group and nodded.

"Go on and touch it," urged Mr. Weasley. He pressed two fingers against the wood. "It's set to leave quite soon."

The group dropped to their stomachs and gripped the Portkey, waiting in silence for the bit of wood to whirl them off to their destination. There was a sudden shriek among the circle and Ron yanked his hand away from the wood as if it burned his fingers. Harry saw this and imitated him, ripping his hand from the Portkey urgently, just in time to avoid being whisked away to the Quidditch World Cup. Harry looked around desperately, but saw that he and Ron were the only ones who weren't taken.

"What is it?" he demanded, looking at the wide-eyed Ron.

"There was a ..." Ron's cheeks grew red. "Spider... On the board."

"_Ron!_" Harry rose to his feet without taking his eyes from Ron.

"You pulled away too!" defended Ron, crawling away from Harry's glare.

"Because you did. I thought it would have been something much worse than a bloody spider!" Harry threw his hands in the air in frustration. "How the hell are we going to get there now?"

"Think of it this way," said Ron, smiling sheepishly. "At least the spider's gone with them..."

"GREAT COMFORT THAT IS!"

"Calm down, Harry."

"I thought you were over this! You seem fine around Scorpagog, don't you?"

"He's not a spider." Ron stood up and brushed dirt off of his robes.

"He's an arachnid. He's got eight legs just like any spider."

"He's only got two eyes and he talks like Hagrid. How could you not like him?"

"Forget it. Just try to figure out a way to get there." Harry looked around the clearing hopelessly for any sign of another Portkey.

"Apparition's blocked. Can't Floo - no fireplaces, I think, unless you count the ones in tents but I don't reckon they're connected to the Floo Network."

"What if we Apparated to Neville's house?" suggested Harry. "I think he said something about using one of the old wheels out by the creek near his house as a Portkey."

"Wait ... Wheels?"

* * *

Harry found himself back at the Burrow so suddenly he hadn't yet registered what Ron was talking about. Before he knew it, he was standing before Sirius Black's flying motorcycle, on which he'd flown with Rubeus Hagrid on two occasions. It wasn't until Ron gestured towards the sidecar that Harry finally spoke.

"No," replied Harry, though he was grinning. Ron looked disappointed, until Harry continued, "It's my bike. You're riding in the sidecar."

"What?" Ron shook his head. "I'd barely fit! I'd knee myself in the face in that thing!"

"You drove last time anyway," reasoned Harry. He swung his leg over the seat and patted the sidecar with his hand, inviting Ron to sit. "Can't waste time arguing anyway. With how long it'll take us to get there, we shouldn't waste any time."

"Hold on," said Ron. He flourished his wand. "_Accio Harry's Quidditch goggles!_"

A pair of specialized Quidditch goggles soared through an open window of the Burrow and arrived at Ron's side.

"Thanks," said Harry, strapping the goggles over his head once Ron passed them along, and placing his spectacles in his pocket. "Ready?"

Harry struggled not to laugh as Ron curled up in the sidecar with his knees pointing out the sides and strapped himself in. He looked like an adult riding a child's tricycle.

"Harry?" he asked while Harry started revving the engine. "Have you ever - er - flown a motorcycle before?"

"Once." Harry smiled. Ron gulped.

Then, they were off into the sky, soaring over the thicket of brush through which they'd trudged less than ten minutes prior. The sun was shining through the clouds now, and Harry and Ron rose higher and higher towards the warm source of light until the cars scattered on the roads below were as as small as Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans to the eye. As they zoomed through the air, Harry basked in the exhilaration of the wind flipping his hair, the rippling of his clothes, and the view of the farms, roads, and lakes below.

"Ron?" asked Harry, sounding uncertain.

"Yeah?"

"Where exactly is the Quidditch World Cup?"

"Scotland."

"I know that, but do you know where in Scotland it is?"

"Edinburgh, I think."

"Anything more specific?"

"Shouldn't be too hard to find." Ron shrugged. "We're wizards, aren't we?"

After a few moments of steady flying over a busy city in the general direction of Scotland, doubts were forming in Harry's mind about their plan. It was different from his flight to Hogwarts with Ron: That time, he had the Hogwarts Express to guide him from King's Cross all the way to his destination. This time, Harry felt similar to how he did during the Triwizard Tournament when he dove into the Great Lake with no clue as to where the Mermish village was. He had just begun to wonder if Myrtle might be able to help him again when Ron spoke up.

"I have an idea!" Ron pointed down. "Go lower!"

"I can't, we're right over London."

"I know! Go lower!"

"But we can't alert Muggles to our presence, remember?" warned Harry, descending towards the ground in spite of his protests.

"What's more important, that or Quidditch? It's the World Cup! I want to see Krum defea - er - I mean I want to see Oliver win!"

"You're so subtle," said Harry. "What's the plan, then?"

"I'll tell you when we land. Go down on that street, there. Nobody's around."

Harry looked down at the gray grid of city buildings with several colored blips crowding its many intersections, and the occasional patch of green trees. One gray road stuck out as it was completely dormant, presumably blocked off for whatever reason. Harry went into a steep dive, feeling his hair and clothes flapping rapidly in the extreme wind, and hearing Ron's fearful yelp.

Harry pulled up just before it was too late, similar to his favorite Quidditch maneuver, the Wronski Feint, and felt two thuds when the wheels of the enchanted bike hit the ground. He immediately activated the brakes and heard a loud shriek as the bike skidded towards the end of the road, into oncoming traffic. He slammed on the breaks with all his might as he passed a set of orange traffic cones, and came to a halt just before sliding out into the busy street. When he looked around at Ron, he found that Ron had jumped out of the sidecar and was trying to stop it with his bare hands.

"Watch it, boy!" grunted an angry police officer, approaching them as they wheeled the bike away from the street. "How'd you get on that road? It's been blocked off!"

"Got lost, I suppose," breathed Harry. Ron nodded fervently beside him, clutching his heart. "I'll just be off, then."

"Not so fast," growled the officer. "I'll need to see your license."

"Er - It's just here," said Harry. He reached into his pocket and drew his wand, then flicked it in the policeman's direction. "_Obliviate!_"

The policeman's face, previously scrunched up in confusion and frustration, went completely blank. His jaw hung ajar, his eyes clouded, and drool began to seep down over his shirt. Harry glanced around to check for witnesses, then leaned in and whispered in the officer's ear.

"You saw nothing out of the ordinary today," he said. "You were just going to go buy a newspaper over there."

"Right," agreed the officer, still looking a bit drowsy. "Oi, move along, then. Stop bothering me."

Harry exhaled a sigh of relief before joining Ron, who was trying to feed bronze Knuts to a parking meter beside the parked motorcycle. Harry scanned his environment to see a busy city block with many shops with brightly colored signs.

"You incredible prat!" shouted Harry. Ron avoided Harry's eyes. "Do you realize what I've just had to do?"

"Calm down, Harry." Ron gave up on the meter and pocketed his money.

"I'll not calm down! You..." Harry faltered when he noticed several onlookers watching his outburst. A few were pointing him out to their friends. He lowered his voice, then said, "Why did you want to come down here anyway?"

"Because, mate, we need one of those 'eck-tronic' things." Ron smiled proudly. "To find the stadium."

"What, you mean radar?" Harry stared in disbelief. "There are five - no, six reasons why that won't work!"

"No." Ron's eyes began sweeping nearby shop windows. "We need an ecktronic-"

"Electronic."

"Electronomic - whatever - we need one of those. Why didn't I think of it during the Horcrux hunt? Electratomic stuff fizzes out when it's near magic!"

"Hold on." Harry's eyes widened. "That's brilliant!"

"Just one problem," said Ron. "The bike is magic. It'll make the ecleronic-"

"_Electronic._ You're not even trying anymore."

"It'll make it malfunction, so we'd need to deactivate it. There's a button, isn't there?"

"Yes, so you can drive it on land. We'd just need to deactivate it and determine how close we are to the stadium by how well the device works! It's ... kind of ineffective, actually. That could take a while."

"Not if we use the dragon booster," said Ron quickly as he walked away from Harry, making his way towards a shop called Pathway Electronics.

"_Are you mental?_" called Harry at Ron's back. He secured the bike from thieves in the form of a Sticking Charm and jogged to keep up with his orange-haired friend, still huffing exasperatedly. "You're barking mad, you know that?"

"We need to get to the World Cup," said Ron in a serious tone. He pushed the shop door open, eliciting a jingle from the chime above it. "I'm not leaving Hermione alone with -"

"That's what this is about?" asked Harry as he followed Ron down an aisle full of clunky gray computer monitors. "That's why you were so eager to go?"

"Not entirely." Ron fiddled with a stray monitor cable on a nearby shelf, eyeing it with curiosity. "It's just why I wanted to get there so fast."

"Fine, forget it," said Harry as he followed Ron into the next aisle. "We just need something that we can leave on and check from time to time. Something with a screen, perhaps."

"What about this thing?" asked Ron. He was carrying a book-sized box of gray plastic that had a screen with two purple buttons and a black cross below it. "What's this?"

"That's a video game." Harry pointed at the logo below the screen. "Look, it says 'Game Boy.'"

"Not sure what that's supposed to mean. What does it do?"

"You play games on it." Harry reached over a shelf and grabbed a pack of batteries. "I don't have enough Muggle money to buy anything, though."

"So we'll steal it." Ron shrugged.

"Using magic to steal from Muggles? Have we not broken enough laws?"

"Did I hear 'Muggles?'" asked a voice from behind Harry and Ron. They turned around to see a woman with long curly hair.

"Er - Yes. Muggles." Harry wore a fake smile. "It's my favorite cereal."

The woman laughed and shook her head. "I know what they are."

"Wait a minute," said Ron, narrowing his eyes. "You look familiar. Didn't you used to ... _Ha!_"

"What?" she asked.

"You're Penelope Clearwater!" Ron snorted. "You dated - you actually _dated_ Percy, my brother."

At second glance, Harry vaguely recognized the curly-haired girl from his first few years at Hogwarts.

"Yes, I'm Penelope."

"What're you doing here?" asked Ron. He casually leaned back onto a shelf, but stood straight again once several packs of batteries fell off their hooks and clattered on the ground.

"I saw you Obliviate that man and thought you might be Dark wizards, but I couldn't have been more wrong, could I? You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Had to do it. Anyway, could we exchange some Galleons with you for Muggle money?"

"I live among Muggles now, but I suppose I could do you the favor. How much do you need?"

"Let's see ... Forty pounds for this thing, and a few more for the batteries - we'll need a game as well, to get it to work. Do you want Mario or Donkey Kong?" Harry and Penelope looked around, but Ron had disappeared. "Ron?"

"Look at this!" called Ron's voice from another aisle. He came walking around the corner carrying a small plastic watch. "This will work, and it's much cheaper."

"All right."

After exchanging a Galleon with Penelope for five pounds, Harry and Ron exited the store with a brand new detector of magic. Harry checked it by the bike and found that the numbers displayed on the small rectangular screen dimmed in the presence of the bike's enchantments.

"The World Cup is brimming with magic," said Ron as he climbed into the sidecar. "If we go near it, the watch will probably self-destruct."

"You're wearing it then." Harry grumpily tossed the watch to Ron, who strapped it around his wrist. "We'll have to go by land until we're out of the city."

After removing the Sticking Charm, they rode off through the somewhat busy streets, loosely obeying whichever traffic laws Harry could remember. Ron noticed Harry's teeth were grinding: a telltale sign that he was containing an eruption of anger.

"All right," said Harry as they arrived at a stop light and came to a halt. "Damage assessment: We've Obliviated a Muggle, but they might not find out about that. We landed on an empty street, but some might have seen us in the air."

"It's not like in the car," reasoned Ron. "We could have been a big bird. I'll bet no one got a good look at us."

"You'd better hope they didn't." Harry watched the light flash green and accelerated again. "Think of the trouble your dad could get in. He faced an inquiry last time."

"Suppose when I thought of using the bike I wasn't thinking of the Howler I got last time..." Ron grinned. "But it's been fun though, hasn't it?"

"Mate..." Harry glanced at Ron only to display his narrowed eyes. "Shut up."

* * *

As the day pressed on into the afternoon, Harry and Ron had exited the city and were now passing landscapes of green plains, the occasional patch of trees and shrubs, and farm fields with big black-and-white cows scattered across them, grazing on bits of grass and singing their noisy groans. The conversation to this point had been mostly quiet. Ron would speak up every half-hour or so and be met with a stony silence by his disgruntled best friend. Harry's mood only seemed to lighten when Ron hacked up a bug he'd accidentally caught in his throat from mid-air.

"Might want to shield your face," warned Harry. "Bugs tend to hit you when you're riding this fast."

"Wish I remembered that spell Hermione used on your goggles."

"Ginny's going to kill me," mumbled Harry. Ron snorted.

"And what do you think Hermione will say?" he replied. "'Good on you, Ron! Sounds like a fun adventure. You know how I love rulebreaking.'"

"You're right," said Harry with a smirk. "Tell her it was my idea."

"I was already going to do that, but for some reason she always knows."

"You know, we probably would have been there already if we just went and looked around."

"Doubt it. We had nothing to go on."

"All right, we should be able to fly now." Harry pressed a small white button in-between the handlebars.

The bike began to wobble a bit, then its wheels reluctantly left the ground and they took flight. They soared into the cloudy sky until they were a mere dot amidst the foggy white.

"I've put a Sticking Charm on the sidecar," said Harry. "Let's just hope that's enough. Hang on."

"Just do it." Ron braced himself against his seat.

Harry pressed his palm down on a big purple button near the speedometer; there was a great roar as the engine growled and dragon fire burst from the exhaust, white-hot and blue. The motorcycle shot forward and sped through the air like a bullet, with a great screech of its wrenching metal hinges. Harry ducked his head down to avoid the intense wind and saw Ron desperately clutching the rim of the sidecar, with his eyes shut tightly and his mouth puffing out like a blowfish.

They continued through to Edinburgh and began their pursuit of Magical activity, occasionally disabling the bike's Flying Charm and checking the watch during the drop before enabling it again. Their search was narrowed when they decided to avoid towns and search only in open plains and dense forests. During one such test of the watch's functionality, Ron reported the digits completely disappearing.

"This must be it!" exclaimed Harry as he re-enabled the magical motorbike's flight. "This forest!"

When Harry descended to the tips of the trees, his suspicions were confirmed, as the watch broke apart in a tiny explosion of plastic and circuits, much to Ron's dismay. Harry looked down and saw several long dirt paths cutting through the patches of trees that were lined with flickering fires, big tents, and crowds of witches and wizards, all chatting and laughing merrily. Some pointed upwards when they spotted the flying motorbike, and Harry even heard a few gasps of his name.

"Now we just have to find the others," said Harry.

"I think it'll be easier for them to find us," said Ron.

Harry nodded and slammed his hand against the purple button by the speedometer. The bike lurched forward, blowing a stream of electric-blue dragon fire from the exhaust pipes, as Harry struggled to steer the bike in a large circle. Through the rippling wind, Harry heard a general croon of amazement from the campers below.

"Look!" Ron pointed to the east.

Harry turned his head to see a flare being fired from the ground. It was a fizzing ball of sparkling gold and silver that shot up from the trees until it was good and high, then exploded into a display of fireworks that formed a big golden _W._

"That'll be George," said Ron. "Go on, it came from over there!"

Harry lowered through the trees until the wheels of Sirius Black's enchanted motorbike were feet from the leaf-strewn dirt trail. He tapped the white button with one finger and they fell from the air like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and landed on the ground with a heavy thud. After catching his breath, Harry drove through the bumpy dirt road towards the source of George's beacon.

They soon arrived at a long row of tents at the bottom of a large hill. In the middle of the assemblage of magical tents, Harry recognized Mr. Weasley's new tent, particularly by the large group of people standing before it. Harry and Ron pulled up in front of the crowd, staring at the ground sheepishly.

The group had varied expressions: Hermione, Percy, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley were standing with their arms crossed, scowling at the two motorcycle riders. Beside them, Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was less used to the renegade behavior of Harry and Ron, simply looked shocked. George, Lee, and Angelina wore wicked grins of approval, while Neville seemed too afraid of Mrs. Weasley to dare encourage the two bike riders. Mr. Weasley's eyes told of an inner battle between concern for the consequences of their actions and interest in how the bike flew.

Harry smiled weakly.

"Hello."


	5. The Quidditch World Cup

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

* * *

"Higgins," said Kingsley Shacklebolt distractedly, without breaking his wide-eyed gaze from the trembling Harry and Ron. "Come here, please."

A very wide man waddled up to the Minister's side obediently. He was dressed in tight pistachio robes that were so small for him they stopped at his knees. He held a small white cloth in one pudgy hand, which he'd use to wipe sweat off of his forehead every few seconds. He was biting a shiny black-and-gold pipe, from which puffs of powder-blue smoke would occasionally rise.

"Higgins," continued Kingsley. "Please modify the memory of the Muggle caretaker who undoubtedly witnessed the arrival of Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley."

"Yes, Minister," squeaked Higgins. He hobbled off in search of the Muggle caretaker.

"I..." Kingsley looked around at the group, then back at Harry and Ron. "You..."

"Kingsley," said George quickly. "A word? In private?"

"Very well." Kingsley allowed George to whisk him off behind a thicket of trees for a whispered chat.

Hermione, Percy, Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, and Mr. Weasley approached Harry and Ron as they stood in front of Sirius Black's enchanted motorbike with their heads down, not daring to look them in the eye. When they did look up, they saw Mrs. Weasley's hands at her hips; apparently a red flag, as Ron yipped and recoiled from the sight.

"It was my idea," said Harry quickly, before Mrs. Weasley could begin. "I dragged Ron along."

"No it wasn't, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. Harry shrugged to Ron and began walking away, before Mrs. Weasley said, in a dangerous tone, "That doesn't mean you're off the hook, Harry. Not by a longshot."

"Er." Harry gulped. "Might we have a chance to explain?"

"Oh, I'd love to hear this," said Hermione.

Mrs. Weasley walked forward and pinched Ron's earlobe between her thumb and the knuckle of her index finger, then did the same to Harry, and dragged them off into the woods. Harry attempted to lag behind, where there were witnesses, but it was no use, as they were soon in a deserted maze of tree trunks. The ground was prickled with light that filtered through the leaves high above.

"You have one minute to explain," said Mrs. Weasley.

Harry did his best to justify their actions as he retold the story, but Ron's occasional input kept setting him back a few steps. Eventually, Ron just began to lie. It wasn't until Ron told of the evil half-ogre wizard-hunting policeman that Mrs. Weasley interrupted them.

"Nonsense!" she exclaimed. "Do you not _think_ before you act, Ron? Harry? I can't believe you would do this again! Was that howler not enough?"

"But Mum-"

"DON'T YOU 'MUM' ME!" hissed Mrs. Weasley. "I'M _OUTRAGED!_"

Harry stared at a leaf on the ground that was fluttering in the wind. He'd never been on the receiving end of one of Mrs. Weasley's scolding flurries; he'd always been the witness to Ron's embarrassment. He couldn't ignore her either, as the thought of disappointing the woman who had worked so hard for him and been the mother he'd never had was horrible. He imagined Ron absorbing the lecture and going right back to his wicked ways, but the words of admonishment stung Harry a lot more. At the same time, he'd never felt more accepted as a Weasley.

"This is insane! What would your father say?"

Harry could see a flash of a smile in Ron's eyes, but Ron decided against answering that question. Hermione, Ginny, Percy, and Mr. Weasley had caught up to them at this point.

"And right in front of the Minister!" she continued. "Do you realize how humiliating this is? Did you see the look on Kingsley's face? You've probably ruined your chances of becoming Aurors!"

"Hold on, now, Molly," said Mr. Weasley soothingly.

"_Stop it!_" snapped Mrs. Weasley. "Don't you realize that by taking their side and being the good guy you're encouraging their behavior? You're making them think I'm just an evil shrew who's just trying to control them!"

"That's not true, Mrs. Weasley," urged Harry. "I swear."

"I appreciate that, Harry, but I know my own son."

"I'm sorry," said Ron. Mrs. Weasley didn't stop him.

"You should be," said Percy. He crossed his arms.

"Harry," spoke a deep voice from behind the group. They broke apart to reveal Kingsley, who walked towards Harry and Ron at an agonizingly slow pace, with George behind him. "Ron."

"Minister." Harry smiled weakly.

"Why did you do this?"

"Didn't want to miss the game..."

"You realize that the Ministry of Magic—the very ministry you aspire to work for—exists chiefly to conceal the presence of our world from the eyes of Muggles? Can you even fathom the consequences of exposing Wizardkind to them?"

"I didn't think there was much chance of that," said Ron. Percy scoffed.

"This is unacceptable," said Kingsley. "If I don't punish you, I could be brought up on corruption charges. There have already been whispers amongst the department heads about my 'secret society connections,' and the goblins will have something to say about this, I'm sure—"

At this, George cleared his throat, and Kingsley relented.

"The situation is under control," sighed Kingsley. "Just don't do it again."

Harry and Ron stared in disbelief as the Minister turned and strode back towards the campsite, followed by the mob of huffing admonishers. Only Hermione, Ginny, George, and Mr. Weasley remained. Mr. Weasley opened his mouth to say something, then paused and decided against it.

"Listen to your mother," he finally said, befure turning and walking back to the tent.

"Now that they're gone," said George as he walked around behind Harry and Ron and threw his arms over their shoulders. "I'd like to say something."

"Gerroff," mumbled Ron grumpily.

"I am..." George sniffed, apparently overcome with emotion. "_So proud._"

"Oh, stop it, George," said Hermione. "They could have gotten in serious trouble. They could have been seen. They could have been hurt!"

"I know, isn't it great?" George hugged the two ne'er-do-wells tightly. "Wait 'till the Bandits hear about this."

"George," said Ginny. "What did you say to Kingsley?"

"Just gave him my insight." George smiled. "Well, I'd best be off. Good luck."

George skipped off while whistling a merry tune, leaving only the two scowling girls to face the red-cheeked boys. Ron offered Hermione a sheepish smile and a feeble wave, only to find Hermione's eyes narrow even more. Harry displayed Ginny's favorite toothy grin, and saw Ginny desperately trying to prevent the corners of her mouth from curling into a smile.

"Have you anything to say for yourselves?" asked Hermione.

"You're looking great?" guessed Ron hopefully. Hermione shook her head. "I mean I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"I'm not your mother," she replied. "I knew full well what I was getting into when I started this relationship. I don't expect you to change. Just be safe next time, all right?"

"Wait, what?" Ginny looked around at Hermione, slightly shocked, while Ron beamed triumphantly. "That's it?"

"I wasn't exactly surprised to see them come speeding in here like two flaming fools," replied Hermione. She finally smiled. "I know them too well."

"Phew," said Ginny. She relaxed and let her arms fall to her sides. "Good, because I actually thought it was rather stylish."

"For the record, it was my idea," said Ron, smiling. Harry snorted beside him.

Harry and Ron retold the tale of their flight to the Quidditch World Cup as they made their way through the city of tree trunks back to the campsite.

"That's really clever, Ron!" said Hermione, slightly taken aback. "We could have really used that on the Horcrux hunt."

"Who would have known Muggle gadgets could do what magic can't?" said Ginny. "I'm beginning to understand Dad a bit more."

"Me too," said Ron.

"I'm sure he'd love to hear about that idea." Hermione beamed. "It was rather dull on our end. Our tent sort of became 'crisis control central' for about fifteen minutes then we'd assumed you'd gone back to Grimmauld Place."

"Higgins sent his House-Elf looking for you at the Burrow," added Ginny. "But you'd already gone. Kreacher wouldn't let him into our house without a fight, so we gave up."

"I wonder if I can trick Higgins into freeing him by the end of the World Cup," pondered Hermione aloud. Her peers shared knowing looks. "Harry, how did you free Dobby?"

"Simple trick," replied Ron. "Do you have a Horcrux on hand per chance?"

"I doubt it needed to be a Horcrux."

"Not really," said Harry. "But I don't think the same trick would work on Higgins."

"Have you seen Oliver yet?" asked Ron. "Or any of the other players?"

"No, neither Oliver nor Viktor have come to see us." Hermione frowned. "But if they do, behave yourself."

"I will if he does," replied Ron with a touch of indignance. "'You look vonderful, Her-mow-nin-nee.' What's he playing at?"

"Are you finished?" asked Hermione, narrowing her eyes.

"Yes," muttered Ron. He stuck his hands in his pockets.

"Well, at least Scotland has the edge," said Harry, smiling brightly. Ron grunted in agreement. "Overall, they're much better. It's up to how elusive the Snitch is, I suppose."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny arrived at the dirt road that was sandwiched between two long rows of enchanted tents. Through the entrance to each tent, an interior larger than its exterior was visible. Some looked like the insides of houses, while others looked like dark dungeons and stony castles. Several witches and wizards of various nationalities were gathered around fires outside their tents, chatting and laughing, and eating campfire food. Inside one tent, George Weasley, Lee Jordan, and four young kids in Hufflepuff robes were huddled over a table, conversing in quiet whispers.

Further along the road, the quartet came across Mr. Weasley standing outside the Weasley tent discussing something with an elderly man dressed in women's clothes.

"I don't care!" huffed the man. "Certain areas need to be aired out!"

Hermione struggled to suppress her giggles as the man marched off, his flowing white dress with its rose design fluttering in the breeze. Mr. Weasley eyed Harry and Ron curiously for a moment before greeting them. They stepped into the tent to find the interior of a large two-story home that looked much cleaner and nicer than the actual Weasley house.

There was a crackling fireplace off on the far end of the room with several pale red armchairs and couches near it, and a long milky brown dining-room table at the center of the room. One corner had been made into a kitchen area, with a variety of silver pots and pans hung up on the walls and a big wooden pantry that had already been raided, presumably by George Weasley.

The room had one occupant: Neville Longbottom was sitting in an armchair by the fire, stroking his heavily bandaged arm. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny plopped down on the couch and greeted him.

"All right, Harry?" he asked. "Ron?"

"Yeah." Harry's eyes rested on Neville's bandages. "What about you? What happened?"

"Rather not say," said Neville. "Let's just say I fell a long distance."

Mr. Weasley stepped past the couch and sat down in the chair opposite Neville's. He sat up and monitored the entrance to the tent for a moment, then leaned in towards Harry and Ron, and whispered to them covertly.

"Tell me everything that happened."

* * *

By dusk, the bewitched forest was enflamed with the excitement of the antsy Quidditch fans. All forms of concealment of magic had been forgotten; underage witches and wizards flew two feet off the ground on their toy brooms, Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs illuminated the darkening sky, and there were palpable clouds of colored pipesmoke wafting from tent to tent. The old wispy witch in the tent beside the Weasleys' was burning several sticks of eye-watering incense.

Eventually, Higgins was ordered to Confund the Muggle caretaker and send him elsewhere, caused chiefly by an outbreak of glowing red lanterns that were floating around a group of Chinese wizards. Once the Muggle was gone, the magic became more blatant. Salesmen were shuffling through the crowd carrying trays and pushing carts of extraordinary trinkets and baubles, and an energetic young witch was manning a hastily-erected Butterbeer stand.

The Weasley troop had just reconvened in their tent to share their purchases and prepare for the nearing match. George had bought a miniature Viktor Krum figurine, placed it on the narrow dining-room table and instructed Ron to 'get it out of his system,' then disappeared into the crowd outside with Lee and Angelina. They had bought several new pairs of Omnioculars, which were brass binoculars with several extra knobs and dials for zooming, instant replays, and play-by-play breakdown.

"'Ello!" called a voice from the entrance to the tent.

The group observed the fluttering indigo dress and long silvery blonde hair of a smiling Fleur Delacour as she strolled into their tent. The effect on the males in the room was immediate: their breathing hastened a bit, their words meshed slightly, and there was a new trend of giggling stupidly. Moments after Fleur entered, the tent door flapped open again to reveal the long orange hair and scarred face of Bill Weasley.

"Bill! Fleur!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley. "You've made it! I was beginning to worry."

"Missed the Portkey," explained Bill as his mother crushed his slender frame in a hug. "Ended up holding onto an ordinary old boot for about half an hour before we realized it wasn't taking us anywhere."

"But eet eez no matter," said Fleur. "We used zee Ministry Floo."

"Imagine that," said Mrs. Weasley pointedly. Harry's cheeks and the tips of Ron's ears flushed slightly.

"Oho!" cried Mr. Weasley, spotting a flying green lantern through the tent's door. "It's time! Come on, let's go!"

They all jogged out of the tent and spotted a long trail of green and red lanterns that set a path straight to the stadium. With Mr. Weasley in the lead, they joined a thick line of witches and wizards following the trail. There was an infectious atmosphere of festivity and feverish excitement. Thousands of people were talking and joking loudly in several different languages. Ron swore he spotted a man wearing a big shield-shaped African mask.

At the end of the city of trees, they found themselves in the shadow of a colossal stadium, with high gold walls that stretched in both directions as far as the eye could see. Harry suspected ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside the building. Mr. Weasley addressed his group as he led the way to the nearest entrance, which was already overflowing with shouting witches and wizards.

"Kingsley's Ministry is much more efficient," he said. "Took no more than seventy-five percent of the man-power last time around. The usual enchantments are on every inch of it, of course. It's a shame the Muggles can't see this."

"They've seen enough, I think," said Bill, with a wink to Ron and Harry, who ignored the comment by busying themselves with adjusting their Omnioculars.

"Excellent seats!" declared the Ministry wizard at the entrance after checking their tickets. "Straight upstairs, sir. High as possible!"

"Thank you."

Mr. Weasley gestured for his troop to follow him up a zig-zagging staircase that was carpeted in rich purple. They clambered up the stairs in a sea of Quidditch fans that thinned with every floor they passed as people shuffled off through the doors to their left and right. When they reached the top, the crowd had dwindled down to the Weasley group and a few others.

They filed into a small box at the highest point of the stadium that was at the middle point between the sets of goal-posts on either end of the field. There were two rows of purple-and-gilt seats where the Weasleys sat with Harry, Hermione, and Neville. There was no sign of George, Lee, or Angelina.

Harry looked down at the stadium to see the massive green oval field, with three goal hoops of varying heights at either end, and a gigantic blackboard across the field at eye-level with the top box on which golden writing appeared as if a giant hand were scrawling notes onto the board and wiping them off. Currently, the notes were advertisements for _The Bluebottle Toy Broom_, _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_, and _Mr. Snap's Magical Cameras._

"What will the team mascots for Scotland be?" wondered Hermione.

"I'm not sure," said Mr. Weasley. "I haven't seen them make the finals before tonight."

"They wouldn't have even made it this year if England hadn't signed Marcus _'The Darkness'_ Flint." Ron snorted. "I reckon he gave himself that nickname."

"Flint's playing for England?" asked Hermione incredulously.

"Not anymore," said Harry. "The blighter went and injured three of his own teammates."

"Cormac couldn't have done better," said Ron. Harry chuckled.

Over the next fifteen minutes, their little box began to fill. Percy kept vigilantly rising from his seat to greet several people who were clearly important witches and wizards; he bowed so many times Harry began to wonder if he was wearing some of George's Magically Untying Shoelaces. Beside their box, connected by a covered walkway, was the Ambassador's Box, filled with high-ranking officials and flags of various nationalities.

Mr. Weasley wondered aloud where Kingsley, George, Lee, and Angelina had gone, but his questions were answered when a voice echoed through the stadium, amplified by thousands of big brass megaphones: "Greetings, Quidditch fans, and welcome to Potterwatch at the final at the four hundred and twenty-third Quidditch World Cup!"

There was a roaring cheer from the hundreds of thousands of clapping hands and screaming lungs in the audience.

"No bloody way," breathed Ron, shoving his Omnioculars over his eyes and looking to the Commentator's Booth. "There they are!"

In the booth at the other end of the stadium, Lee Jordan sat before a large golden microphone that hung from the ceiling. Beside him, George Weasley, Angelina Johnson, and Kingsley Shacklebolt were handling similar contraptions.

"This is your host, River!" continued Lee. The crowd's cheer intensified. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm joined for this event by Dagger, proprietor of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes at 93, Diagon Alley."

The gigantic blackboard had erased its final advertisement and now displayed BULGARIA: 0, SCOTLAND: 0.

"How on earth did they get to do this?" said Ginny. "This is unreal!"

"George is always popping in at the Ministry," said Hermione. "He's got quite a bit of influence now. Didn't you see how he advised Kingsley on handling these two dunderheads?"

"Oi!" barked Ron. Hermione smiled innocently.

"Imagine all the business this will bring to the shop," said Neville.

"Thank you, River," spoke the magically amplified voice of George Weasley.

"On top of that, ladies and gentlemen," continued Lee. "I give you: the dancer, the prancer, the lady romancer, the Minister for Magic himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt!"

"They call me Royal on Potterwatch," said the deep, calm voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"We also have a new broadcaster by the name of Angel," said Lee. Angelina snorted.

"_Angel?_" questioned Angelina incredulously. "That's horrible!"

"Fine," said George. "You'll be Kitten."

"No, I will n-"

"Ladies and gentlemen," continued Lee, cutting over Angelina's denial. "Without further ado, let's see the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

A big clump of scarlet-robed fans in the stands roared their approval. Harry and Ron clamped their eyes shut in preparation for the oncoming Veela. After one small peek, however, they were entranced. When the music began to play and the Veela started their dance, the boys were lost. Ron vaguely felt the pounding of Hermione's hand on his shoulder as he considered which course of action would impress the Veela the most. He wanted to run back to the campsite and return on the motorbike.

"Oh man," sounded Lee's voice from the megaphones. "Oh god ... _oh man ... oh god!_" His voice was promptly silenced when Angelina pulled his microphone away.

"Maybe Bulgaria isn't so bad," droned Ron absentmindedly. He was still staring at the Veela as they lined up at one end of the stadium.

Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley dragged the hopeful-looking Neville Longbottom back to his seat, having just prevented him from swan-diving over the edge. The Veela effect on Percy and Bill wasn't as extreme.

"We're back, folks!" said Lee. "Sorry about that. Anyways, put your wands up for the Scottish National Team Mascots!"

There was a faint plunking noise coming from the center of the stadium. One single ball of light had popped into existence, then another, then three more, until tiny orbs of blinding white light began materializing rapidly like popping kernels in a pan of popcorn. When Harry's eyes adjusted to the light, he saw that the gleaming pearls of light had taken the shape of a massive figure nearly half the size of the stadium itself.

The creature was a sparkling dinosaur, shining pure-white like a Patronus as it swam in mid-air, circling the field. It had a massive round body, four rowing fins for limbs, a big meaty cone-shaped tail that swayed idly in the air, and an egg-shaped head at the end of a slender neck that was nearly as long as its tail.

"It's the Loch Ness Monster!" exclaimed Harry.

"The what?" asked Neville, bewildered.

"It's a plesiosaur," explained Hermione. Neville just stared blankly. "It's a monster that's said to live in Loch Ness! It's a dinosaur!"

"Look!" exclaimed Mr. Weasley. "Zoom in on them!"

"I know," said Ron distractedly. He was repeatedly twisting a knob on his Omnioculars. "I can make that one dance again ... and again ... and again..."

"No, not the Veela, Ron, the monster!"

When Ron looked up at the shocking white dinosaur, he saw that it was comprised of thousands of little humanoid creatures with thin glassy insect wings that were wearing white togas. Each of the little creatures had its own sparkling silver aura.

"Faeries!" exclaimed Hermione. "It's made up of loads of little faeries!"

"Cute!" swooned Ginny.

After the dinosaur comprised of faeries finished its circuit of the stadium, it broke apart in an explosion of fairy lights and disappeared.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, please give an excessively loud cheer for the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you - Levski!"

A flying blur of scarlet shot out onto the field and soared past the stands, eliciting a tumultuous clamor from the block of red-robed Bulgarian spectators.

"Vulchanov! Volkov! Petrova! Zograf! Dimitrov! And the captain, Krum!"

The Bulgarian players darted through the stadium so fast Harry couldn't follow them with his Omnioculars. He gave up and looked around at his company. Fleur applauded loudest of all, imitated by Bill beside her. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were cheering the Bulgarian team on, Percy and Neville combined to offer a tiny, insignificant golf clap, and Hermione cleared her throat nervously, not daring to applaud while Ron watched her like a hawk monitoring its prey. Ginny and Harry were busy sharing knowing looks.

"Now, folks, I urge you to deafen me completely by putting your hands together for the Scottish National Quidditch Team! First - Murphy!"

A blue figure ascended from the ground and circled the stadium, swooping low enough to clap hands with the thousands of buzzing Scotland fans.

"Burns! Ross! Gray! McGregor! Wood! And the captain, McClain!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Percy, and Neville readied their Omnioculars as soon as Oliver Wood's name was mentioned. They didn't need to search for long, as Oliver was the only player who didn't sweep through the stands or soar high over the smooth grass. He could be seen ascending directly to his position in front of the goal posts obediently. Though the game hadn't started, Ron noticed that his forehead was already slicked with sweat, and he was shivering slightly as he gazed at the crowd in amazement.

"Go on, Oliver!" shouted Hermione, cupping her hands around her mouth. "You can do it!"

"And who could forget our referee," echoed George's voice. "From Egypt, the Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

The group adjusted their scopes to observe a small wizard in shimmering gold robes walk out onto the field. He was similar in stature to a House-Elf: short, skinny, and bald, though he had a bushy white mustache. He was carrying a large brown box that was secured with a heavy iron lock under one arm and his broomstick under another.

After reaching the white painted circle at the center of the grass field, he dismantled the lock with a flick of his wand and kicked the box open. The four Quidditch balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and the tiny Golden Snitch, which disappeared moments after being released. By the shriek of Mostafa's whistle, the game began.

"They're off!" called Lee. "That's Gray with the Quaffle first! He's passed - No, it's caught by Levski! Levski advancing up the - passes to Dimitrov!"

The action was so fast that Lee often found himself simply shouting the name of whoever gained possession of the Quaffle. The last time Harry saw Bulgaria play, their Chasers had been utterly out-shined by the skillful Irish unit, but now they were comparable to the Scottish chasers Gray, McGregor and McClain. Dimitrov was approaching the Scottish goal posts, as Wood shifted nervously on his broom. He was saved from defending the hoop, however, as a Bludger bopped the Quaffle out of Dimitrov's hand.

"Well-aimed Bludger by Burns!" commented George. "Big bloke!"

"He's a whole lot of love," agreed Lee. "That's Gray with the Quaffle again, pushing forward - to McGregor! Back to Gray! McClain! He shoots - Scotland scores!"

For added humiliation, McClain zipped through the very goal hoop through which he'd just thrown the Quaffle, then pulled up and flew back towards his team upside-down. Zograf, the Bulgarian Keeper, could be seen shaking his fist indignantly.

"Ten-zero, Scotland!"

Harry soon learned that McClain was to Scotland as Krum was to Bulgaria: the driving force behind the team. He was so skilled that he ended up doing everyone else's job. Oliver Wood hadn't yet been attacked with a Quaffle as McClain was grabbing them from mid-air before they could reach the goal posts. The match continued with McClain's dominance while Krum desperately searched for the tiniest flicker of gold other than the referee's robes.

Within twenty minutes, Scotland was up sixty to zero, all points attributed to McClain, who currently had possession of the Quaffle and was searching for an opening to score his seventieth point.

"McClain passes to Gray! McClain again! McGregor! He shoots - blocked by Zograf! Zograf to Dimitrov! Oh, barely dodged that Bludger! Levski! Dimitrov! To Petrova! She takes a shot -"

It was Oliver's first test as Keeper as McClain was nowhere in sight. Oliver lurched to the left-hand hoop, only to have the Quaffle barely graze him and pass directly through the middle hoop.

"Petrova scores! Sixty-ten, Scotland!"

The Bulgarian section was invigorated by the goal, and, now that they had something to cheer about, shouted louder than ever. Krum clapped Petrova's hand as they crossed paths in the air.

"Come on, Oliver!" shouted Harry. Harry swore he'd seen Oliver caught his eye for a split second.

Energized, the Bulgarian team quickened the pace of the match. Volkov and Vulchanov were swinging their Beater's bats so wildly they often hit other players, and occasionally themselves. Ron whispered his suspicion to Harry that the overweight Burns was Scotland's secret weapon, and, now that Harry had considered him, Burns was a superb beater. His Bludgers had drawn blood three times so far.

"Dimitrov to Petrova! Back to Dimitrov! Dimitrov goes for it - Wood saves it!" shouted Lee. Harry's entire section, with the exception of Fleur, stood and applauded.

"Booya!" added George.

"There's Gray with the Quaffle! Sets it up for McClain! Blocked - wait, McClain's caught it on the rebound! He scores again!"

Oliver continued to guard the hoops adequately, rarely slipping up. Krum was looking distraught when he saw the golden chalk on the giant blackboard write SCOTLAND: 120, BULGARIA: 20, and knew that, with just five more scores, hope was lost. He intensified his search for the Snitch, speeding through the arena with incredible agility. Meanwhile, McClain was on the attack again, and delighted the crowd by stylishly ricocheting the Quaffle off of the dumbfounded Vulchanov's forehead and into one of the goal rings.

"Hahaha!" chirped Angelina. "I've never seen a better shot!"

"One hundred thirty-twenty, Scotland!"

The occupants of the top box were no longer making use of their seats as they stood to get a clearer view. Soon, the all-important one hundred and fifty point differential had been made, to the point where even Krum couldn't save Bulgaria. Almost as if to mock him, the Snitch appeared before Krum's eyes soon after the point difference had been reached.

Krum darted after it, and Harry instantly knew something suspicious was going on. Krum wasn't making any grabs for the Snitch, but simply staying within arm's reach, and the Bulgarian Chasers went into overdrive. Dimitrov snatched the Quaffle directly from McClain's hands and tossed it to Levski, who left Gray and McGregor behind and sped towards the goals.

"They were sandbagging!" exclaimed Ron, widening his eyes. "They were faking it so they could surprise them! All they need is a few points now!"

The Bulgarian Chasers were simply outclassing those of the Scottish team at this point. They'd all ended up in front of the Scottish goal posts, leaving the Scottish team struggling to catch up. All that stood between the three Bulgarian Chasers and the goals was Oliver Wood. Krum watched intently while keeping one eye on the Snitch.

"Those sneaky Bulgarians!" exclaimed George. "I like it!"

"Levski shoots - blocked! But Dimitrov's caught it! It's blocked again! Petrova - SAVED AGAIN!"

Harry had to plug his ears as the crowd's deafening chanting was becoming unbearable. Despite this, Harry contributed to the noise as best he could, shouting: "_Wood! Wood! Wood!_"

On the fourth shot, McClain swept in like a blue shadow and caught the Quaffle, saving Oliver from further pressure. McClain darted past the momentarily bewildered Bulgarian Chasers and made his way to the Bulgarian side, but was halted by the Bulgarian Beaters Volkov and Vulchanov. Krum's eyes were now glued to the action, waiting for his chance to end the game.

"Wait a minute, Krum's hit!"

Then, suddenly, Krum fell from the sky, weakly clutching his broom with one hand and his stomach with the other. Ross, the Scottish Beater, had just nailed him in the gut with a heavy Bludger. As he fell, Murphy, the previously dormant Scottish Seeker, climbed past Krum and grasped the fluttering Golden Snitch, holding onto it with two hands for good measure.

"Murphy's caught the Snitch! SCOTLAND WINS!"

The Scottish team rejoiced and flew by Hawkshead Formation in a victory lap over the stands. The giant shining dinosaur appeared once again, singing a deep groaning song and floating slowly above the field. Then the Top Box was illuminated with a bright glow so that it was visible to the entire stadium. The Weasley group squinted to see two exhausted wizards lugging a vast golden cup into the room, followed by Kingsley Shacklebolt, George Weasley, Lee Jordan, and Angelina Johnson, who were still grinning.

"Greetings, witches and wizards," said Kingsley, prodding the tip of his wand to his throat. His voice was several times louder than normal. "First, let's honor the gallant losers, the Bulgarian National Team."

The crowd cheered feebly. Zograf, the Bulgarian Keeper, hobbled into the room looking sullen, as Kingsley called out his name and shook his hand. He was followed by his similarly forlorn teammates Vulchanov, Volkov, Levski, Dimitrov, Petrova, and, lastly, the limping Viktor Krum, who received great applause. His eyes flashed in the direction of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and he smiled weakly. Harry heard a sudden intake of breath and turned his head to see Ron grasping Hermione's hand tightly. She looked pained but appreciative.

"And the winners, the Scottish National Team!"

Murphy was the first out, and received a bit of cheer when his name was called. After him, McGregor, Ross, Gray, Burns, Wood, and McClain followed, with increasingly loud levels of support from the fans. Oliver eyed Harry with a smile, while hanging on McClain's shoulder.

"He fainted!" explained the brown-haired, blue-eyed McClain, chuckling. "On the way up!"

After being awarded the cup, the Scottish team was off for another victory lap, with the exception of Oliver Wood, who lagged behind and approached Harry.

"Come celebrate with us tonight by the Scottish tents, Harry," said Oliver. "All of you. If the trainers ask, tell them Ollie said it was all right."

"I'll be there," promised Harry to the man who had taught him how to play Quidditch nine years ago.

"Hello, Herm-own-ninny," said a voice from behind the group. They turned to see the sulking Viktor Krum. "And Harry, and Ron."

"Viktor," said Hermione with a sweet smile. Ron had his arm around her shoulders at this point. "How are you?"

"Not good." Krum greeted Ginny and Neville with feeble handshakes.

"Hello, Viktor," said Harry. "Haven't seen you since Fleur's wedding. I was disguised as a Weasley-"

"I know." Krum smiled faintly. "The Lovegood girl vos calling you 'Harry.'"

"Why don't we go - but, no, we've told Oliver we'd celebrate with the Scottish team..." Hermione grimaced apologetically.

"Is fine," said Viktor. "Did I say? Anka said yes..."

"That's wonderful!" exclaimed Hermione.

She slipped out from Ron's arms and threw hers over Krum's shoulders in a tight hug. By the faint lines and shadows on Ron's face, Harry saw a brief but disturbing flash of the furious wolf within.

"Who's Anka?" asked Ron.

"My ... How do you say it? Girl who is marrying me..."

"Fiancée," supplied Ginny.

Ron's inner wolf began to look more like an overjoyed puppy.

"Really?" Ron grinned. "Cheers, Vicky!"

Krum frowned.

"I mean 'Viktor.'"

* * *

"I'm shot," sighed Ron as he slid into bed with Hermione, who was tucked under their blue-and-white pinstriped blanket. "It's been a long day. Jolly good, but blimey, it's been long."

"It has," agreed Hermione, looking up from her copy of _Harry Potter and the Interview with Rita Skeeter_.

"Throw that thing away, will you?" said Ron. He removed his shirt, revealing his long and somewhat skinny frame, then fell back into his pillow.

"I will not," she replied, turning a page. "It's fascinating. Fourth year, remember? I became a super spy who got close to Viktor Krum to find out his Triwizard strategies. It's all in the book."

"I wish that were the case," mumbled Ron. "Besides, I'd rather you didn't rehash those old memories. I made a fool of myself that year."

"You make a fool of yourself every year," reasoned Hermione.

"Do you really want to read right now?" Ron grinned. "By some stroke of luck we're given our own bed and our own room, and you want to read some old bat's compendulum of crocks and lies?"

"Compendium," corrected Hermione. "And what did you have in mind?"

"Stuff I don't dare reveal," said Ron slyly.

He rolled over and brushed the red book out of Hermione's hands. It dropped to the floor, forgotten, as Ron pressed half of his weight on Hermione and pressed his lips against hers. She responded happily by slithering her arms around his neck and resting the sleeves of her pyjamas over his bare shoulderblades. After a few moments of slow snogging, Hermione sensed Ron's movements slacking as he occasionally drifted off and shook himself awake.

"It can't be tonight," whispered Hermione. "I'd love for it to be, but it can't."

"You're tired?" asked Ron.

"No, you're tired." Hermione guided him over to his back so she could rest against him. "Probably from riding on that speeding bike, or all that scowling you did when Viktor talked to us."

"Krum and I might be friends after all." Ron closed his eyes, ready to welcome sleep at any moment.

"He seemed a bit put out when you called him 'Vicky,'" said Hermione, doing the same. "Even more so when you asked for Anka's contact information."

"Wanted to personally thank the girl," said Ron, grinning. "It was a joke, though. Pig can't go that far. He'd talk my ear off about it if I sent him on a trip like that."

"Pig can't talk." Hermione frowned. "He's an owl."

"Let's say..." Ron yawned. "He comes 'round once a month."

"Oh, I wonder what that means." Hermione dug her head into Ron's shoulder. "By the way, I've freed Higgins's House-Elf."

"What? How?"

"It was a simple matter of getting him to pass that disgusting handkerchief to the elf. I asked him to carry a few things as I emptied my bag, and he did it without even thinking."

"You're scary sometimes," said Ron. "Brilliant, but scary."

"You're scary sometimes too. Let's say ... once a month." Hermione pecked Ron's cheek. "I love you. Lots."

"I love you too. Large amounts."


	6. Houses of the Holey

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

* * *

As the beginning of the Hogwarts school year approached, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was packed to bursting with mischief-hungry future students. Joke products were being ripped off the store's many shelves with avarice, and the magical autonomous tills were eating the young shoppers' gold Galleons fast enough to rival Ron's interactions with bacon. Shop employees clad in magenta robes were scrambling about the chaos to offer assistance to customers and assurance to their concerned parents.

Several magically animated decorations added to the liveliness of the shop; there were rising pink heart-shaped bubbles emanating from the Wonder Witch section, sparkling Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs illuminating the ceiling high above, and a small puppet that resembled a cross between a woman and a toad was wandering about a high shelf wearing a horizontally striped black-and-white jumpsuit with chained shackles around its wrists. In the far corner of the room, there was a soundproof radio booth with several shiny golden microphones hanging from its ceiling.

Neville Longbottom stepped through the door and squeezed into the dense sea of future troublemakers, his wand pointed above his head. Above him, his school trunk along with other luggage was floating buoyantly in mid-air, directed by his raised wand. His face was scrunched up in concentration, as a disruption of his Locomotor spell might result in several crushed customers.

A one-eared wizard with vibrant copper-colored hair and a dazzling white tuxedo stood on a plinth at the center of the floor, presenting several new products to the raving army of students. He soon spotted the floating clump of baggage and dropped his jaw in fright, then quickly drew his wand and flicked it in the direction of the heavy cluster. A puffy white cloud materialized under the luggage and carried it across the room to the staircase in the back that led to the flat above the shop.

Sighing in relief, Neville pocketed his wand and approached the platform on which George Weasley stood. George bowed in appreciation for the _oohs_ and _aahs_ his cargo cloud received, then hopped down beside Neville.

"Hello, Neville," he said, grinning. "Come on up, your room's all cleared out. Helinora's habitat was a bit of a bitch to remove - oops, I should probably watch my language until the school year starts..."

Neville grinned and followed George up the staircase that led to George's flat, offering Lee and Angelina a greeting in passing along the way. At the top of the stairs, the snowy white cloud that carried Neville's luggage was repeatedly bumping into the door in an attempt to enter the flat.

"That spell still needs a bit of work," commented George as they ascended the stairs.

"What's the incantation?" asked Neville.

"Haven't named it yet," said George. He flicked his wand and the door swung open, admitting Neville, George, and Neville's bags. "Welcome."

The door led to the living room of the flat, which was illuminated by prisms of light that slanted down from two windows on the far wall. There was a clunky stone fireplace between the windows with a few blackened logs stacked inside. The fireplace was surrounded by big cushy armchairs and a wide couch. The floor was covered by a big faded rug that had several crescent hoof prints scattered on it. There was a broken-down Muggle television set in the corner.

"I've been trying to get it to work with magic," explained George. "So we can watch Muggle 'television.' But the most I've done is get sound, and only for a few seconds. I heard someone singing 'Inspector Gadget,' whatever that is."

"It's in here," continued George, taking an immediate left. The cloud of luggage was now attempting to penetrate the door that led to Neville's new bedroom. "I'm giving you the room with the windows - for your plants."

"Thanks."

George pushed the door open and followed the cargo cloud inside. It stopped at the center of the room and disintegrated, dropping the bags onto the olive-green wooden floor with a heavy thud. As Neville's bedroom was above a street corner, it had two extra windows and was a lot brighter. When Neville walked into the room, he saw that George had cleaned out everything but a big brown dresser and a bed, which was left unmade.

"Fred's bed," he explained, his voice a bit heavy. "It's yours now."

Neville nodded solemnly. George flicked his wand, and Neville witnessed his belongings stepping out of his bags and trunk of their own accord and making their way to his new dresser, his pants walking like pairs of legs, his shirts knuckle-walking like cotton gorillas, and his socks inching like worms.

"Come, let's see the kitchen." George stepped out of the room, leaving Neville to stare at his moving clothes in awe for a moment before following.

Neville followed George across to the right-hand side of the living room and into a short hallway.

"Oh, that's the loo," said George, gesturing towards the first door they passed. "Toilet flushes like a dream. I could probably stuff you down there. Moving right along."

The kitchen was the same size as the bathroom, made narrower by the counters and cupboards on either wall. It had a few plates and forks on the shelves, and a large magically cooled wooden refrigerator.

"Barely ever use it." George shrugged. "It's got some food, though, if you're hungry. Help yourself."

"All right." Neville checked the fridge and saw just a flat cardboard pizza box and a jug of milk.

"That," said George, pointing behind his back to a door at the end of the hallway that had a lacy red bra hanging from its handle. "Is my bedroom."

"That your bra?" asked Neville with a smirk.

"What?" George widened his eyes and glanced at the door. "Blimey!"

George removed the bra, opened his door, and tossed it onto his bed, then closed the door before Neville could have a look.

"It's not mine," he said, grinning. "It's ... Someones. I'm not sure what her name is."

"Is it that Muggle your mum was talking about?"

"No comment. Anyways, there are just two house rules, Nev." George raised one finger. "Rule one: When there is a green '_X_' on the door, do not enter. Don't even knock. It's for your own good. If it's a red '_X_' the same rules apply, except you should note that I have a girl in there, and be happy for me."

Neville offered a feeble chuckle.

"Rule two." George raised another finger. "No fat girls."

Neville raised an eyebrow.

"Only joking. Bring 'em on!"

"I'm beginning to think this is going to be just a bit different from living with my Gran..."

George nodded. There was a knock at the door; George led the way back to the living room and yanked the door open, revealing a sweating Lee Jordan.

"Verity's here, and the kids have gone." Lee stepped into the flat. "_Phew_. Working like a House-Elf today. Got anything to drink?"

"No, just milk," said George.

"What ever for?" Lee frowned.

"Mum brought it."

George walked over to the wide, puffy couch and plopped down, then hoisted his feet onto a coffee table that had several ring-shaped stains on it. Lee and Neville followed and sat in the armchairs that flanked the couch, and rested their feet on the table as well.

"Never eat off of this table, by the way," said George. Neville frowned and looked as though he was considering taking his feet off of the table to be safe. "Oh, it's perfectly sanitary. I'm just suggesting you use a plate."

Lee chuckled a bit, but Neville remained stony.

"George, would you change out of that ridiculous thing?" asked Lee, nodding towards his pure white tuxedo.

"I know you want to get me naked, but no," replied George. "Besides, you could never pull this off."

"I'd never try!" laughed Lee. Neville sighed.

"What's troubling you, old soul?" asked George. Neville shrugged. "How's your arm, chap?"

"It's fine now." Neville hesitated. "I guess you've figured out what happened."

"I have a rough idea," said George.

"What happened?" asked Lee.

"Xenophilius - Luna's dad - blasted me through a wall."

"Wait a minute..." Lee grinned wickedly and leaned in. "So he caught you."

"Yeah."

"During?" Lee moved closer.

"The morning after."

"Oh, that's good."

"What was it like?" asked George.

"I'm not telling you!" said Neville indignantly.

"Oh, go on!" urged Lee. "I give you details, don't I?"

"You never have before."

"I will in the future."

"I'm not sure I want them..."

"Just spill it," said George. "Reveal to us your secrets, Neville."

"It was ... odd."

"Big shocker there," mumbled Lee. "It's Loony Lovegood."

"Don't call her that." Neville perked up. "She doesn't deserve that."

"What was odd about it?" asked George.

"Well, we were crying. I doubt that's how most people do it. It was my first time, so I don't know."

"You _cried_?" asked Lee.

"Why_,_ Neville?" added George.

"Because she was leaving." Neville frowned. "I thought that was obvious."

"No." George shook his head. "I meant why did you just admit that to me? What hellbroth of teasing hath you wrought upon yourself?"

"Come off it," snorted Lee. "Remember that Muggle bird that wandered in here yesterday?"

"Why, yes," said George, beaming. "I sure do."

"When I came up here she was leaving, all spooked, because you kept saying 'booya,' whatever that means."

"It's American - I'm cultured, you know - and she didn't even speak English!" George stared, incredulous. "How did she explain that to you?"

"Well, for one, I heard it happen because I was indexing late last night. Two, she kept saying it when I asked her what was wrong."

"I wonder if that's a word in her native tongue," said Neville. "Where was she from?"

"I don't know. She's some sort of islander."

"So you can't speak to each other, you don't know her name or where she's from, but you're still seeing her?"

"I do know her name - I just can't pronounce it - and we communicate through the language of the body. Like, if she's hungry, she'll start pantomime-chewing."

"Didn't you get in trouble for bringing her here?"

"When you're regularly breaking bread with the Minister, the Chief Mugwump, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Higgins, etcetera, you're not going to have problems with a minor infraction like that." George grinned. "She's been given Knowledgeable Muggle status, like Hermione's parents, so she's allowed in so long as she doesn't blab about our world, a'course."

"George," said Lee, in a more serious tone. "Are we going to show him the thing?"

"We have to," replied George with a sigh. "He'll find out sooner or later."

"What thing?" Neville sounded cautious.

* * *

The night sky above the shadowy English plains was clear and empty but for a speeding black blur that was only visible when its frame blotched out the stars and crescent moon. The moving smudge of darkness went unnoticed by all but the most perceptive of stargazers, and even they likely assumed it was a small jet or helicopter. It was with the aid of a potent pair of binoculars that a terribly confused young Muggle boy identified the figure as a laughing young couple riding a big black-and-chrome motorbike.

Sitting in front with his hands balled over the bike's ape hangers was a bespectacled young man with unruly black hair. Behind him, a grinning girl sat with her arms locked around the boy's waist, her long crimson mane whipping wildly in the wind. The bike's sidecar had been removed for balancing purposes, and the bike flew faster as a result.

"How much farther?" asked Ginny, raising her voice to combat the sound of the rippling wind.

"Not long now," replied Harry, grinning. He made a swooping turn, eliciting a hoot of joy from his passenger.

"Harry?" said Ginny, sounding hopeful.

"What is it, dear?" asked Harry in a mocking tone. Ginny snorted.

"Can we use the dragon fire?"

"What? No!" exclaimed Harry. "You'd fall right off."

"I can break my fall if I do," said Ginny. "Besides, I'm hanging on tightly. I won't fall."

"It's out of the question."

"Ron got to!" complained the red-haired girl.

"It was his idea!" growled Harry. "Besides, he's stronger."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that."

"Fine, but hang on, and tight." Harry gasped slightly as Ginny enveloped his stomach in a bear hug. "Yes, that's it."

Harry struck the big purple button by the speedometer with his palm. As a safety precaution, it was built such that considerable pressure had to be applied before the button pressed down. The bike immediately jutted forward and rocketed through the sky, leaving a bright, electric-blue breath of dragon fire in its wake. Ginny let out a howl of excitement loud enough to match those her brother made to the full moon.

Harry felt Ginny's grip on his stomach tighten with unexpected strength, and struggled to suck the air back into his lungs as the bike slowed down to its normal speed. Soon, Ginny's arms loosened around him but remained nestled at his waist, while he began their descent upon a suburban grid of trees, houses, and lawns. Harry smiled contently as he saw a certain messiness about this neighborhood that would not have been allowed at Privet Drive.

"Here we are," said Harry, slowly sailing down and landing abruptly in the driveway of a large home.

"I love this thing," said Ginny as she dismounted, stroking the seat of the bike with her fingers. "Much better than a broom."

"Plus it comes with me included," said Harry brightly as he stepped off. "So that's a plus."

"I suppose." Ginny grinned at Harry's narrowed eyes and followed him along a stone walkway that led to the front door.

"Grimmauld Place should look this nice soon." Harry rapped his knuckles on the door a few times. "I might tell Kreacher to lay off the potioneering for a few days just so he can help with the exterior. You'd be fine with that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, but Hermione won't let him do it alone, of course." Ginny smiled. "Ron says he has vials of Wolfsbane 'practically up the wazoo' at this point anyway."

"Probably not the best place to store your Wolfsbane."

The door eased open, revealing the long brown hair and familiar face of Andromeda Tonks; it brought Harry and Ginny mixed feelings. Harry found himself wincing just a bit every time he saw her, as she bore a disturbing resemblance to her sister, and one of Harry's worst enemies, Bellatrix Lestrange. After the initial recognition, one could stop to notice that her expression was much warmer, her hair lighter, and her eyes less sinister.

"Hello, Harry." Andromeda smiled weakly. "And Ginny."

"Hello, Andromeda," Harry and Ginny said in unison, with bright smiles. "We're here to see Teddy. And you, of course!"

"Of course." Andromeda stepped back to admit the young couple, then closed and locked the door. "He's in here."

Harry and Ginny followed Andromeda into the sitting room, which had pale pumpkin-orange walls, brown tapestries over its few windows, several off-white couches with white pillows that surrounded a glass coffee table, and a big marble fireplace that was blocked off with rattling black grilles. There were potted plants, candles, magically animated framed photographs, and other knick-knacks splayed over the room's many surfaces.

Harry's eyes didn't have to search the room for long before they found his godson; Teddy's colorful hair, currently a bright turquoise, stuck out against the room's decorative motif. Aged about one and a half years, Teddy was now in the habit of babbling away in a meshed language only he could understand, occasionally uttering a few English words. Harry had learned from Andromeda that Teddy's first word was 'wotcher.'

Harry knew his godson was two feet, six inches tall, already showing signs of his mother's terrible clumsiness, and had the ability to alter his hair and eye color based on his emotional state. Harry had given him a toy broom the previous month, and subsequently realized he probably wasn't going to be signing up to play Quidditch for his Hogwarts House when he went to school.

"Gof-fadda!" Upon spotting Harry, Teddy's hair soaked black as if ink had been poured over his head.

"Teddy Lupin!" Harry crouched down to Teddy's level and swept him up into a spinning hug. "Wotcher!"

"Wotcha," agreed Teddy brightly.

"Hi, Teddy," said Ginny with a kind smile.

"Hi!" Teddy waved, despite being a mere two feet from her.

"I'll make tea," said Andromeda. She strode into the kitchen, from where the clanking of pots and pans soon emanated.

Harry sat next to Teddy on one of the beige couches. Ginny sat down on the couch opposite them on the other side of the coffee table.

"So what trouble have you been up to, Teddy?" asked Harry.

"Umm..." Teddy looked at the ceiling thoughtfully, then responded with a bit of gibberish.

"Been riding your broom?" Harry looked around for it.

"No." Teddy recognized the word 'broom' as the medieval torture device he'd been forced to mount one month ago.

Teddy's eyes wandered to Ginny, then slowly turned brown. His hair brightened from jet black to a splendid crimson similar to Ginny's. Ginny grinned from ear to ear at the sight.

"Much better." She nodded.

"You think that's good?" asked Harry. "Look at this."

He raised his hands and bent his fingers like claws. Teddy's widened eyes told of impending doom. Harry proceeded to attack Teddy's sides with his fingertips, tickling him into a fit of involuntary laughter. Teddy's hair immediately changed color and soon began to resemble a rainbow, with patches of yellow, cyan, purple, green, and red, that shifted rapidly to match the intensity of the tickling assault.

"It turns white sometimes when he dreams," said Andromeda from the doorway. She carried a big silver tray of teacups that surrounded a transparent red teapot.

She placed the tray on the table, and Teddy immediately reached for the teacup that was filled with cold juice. He stumbled along the way and overextended himself, knocking the entire tray onto the floor with a great clanging of metal and shattering glass. Ginny screamed in pain and desperately brushed the scalding hot tea off of her knees.

"Aahhh!" Teddy did not usually cry after one of his frequent mishaps, but rather emitted a panicked yell. "_Nooo!_"

"It's all right, Teddy," said Harry, pulling Teddy away from the glass shards by his waist. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry, dear," said Andromeda. She drew her wand and waved it in the direction of the broken glass. It clumped back together and mended quickly.

"I-I'll get them," shivered Ginny, bending over to retrieve the tray. She placed it at the center of the coffee table, then placed the emptied teacups and teapot atop it. "It's fine, Teddy, don't worry!"

"So what's he been getting up to?" asked Harry conversationally, as Ginny siphoned the spilled tea and orange juice from the rug with her wand.

"He's learned a few new words," said Andromeda. She picked Teddy up and sat him in her lap. "And his first naughty word."

"Really?" asked Ginny, grinning. "Which one?"

"Nevermind that." Andromeda narrowed her eyes. "I took him to visit George's shop last time I was in Diagon Alley and, of course, he chooses a swear word to imitate. And from one of the workers, no less. Black boy, short hair, quite handsome."

"Lee," identified Harry. Ginny laughed. "He's River on Potterwatch."

"Is he really?" Andromeda raised her eyebrows. "Well, then you'd think he'd know how to control his language."

"I suppose."

"Why haven't you ever been on Potterwatch?" asked Andromeda. "You're Potter."

"What am I going to do, watch myself?" Harry grinned. "Ever listened to Potterwatch, Teddy?"

"Umm..." Teddy frowned.

"The radio," explained Andromeda.

"Um!" replied Teddy.

"Oh!" Andromeda started a bit. "I have something to show you, Harry."

Harry took the wiggling Teddy from her hands so that she could stand. She stepped out of the room for a moment, then returned with a royal blue book. She handed it to Harry, and Harry read the title aloud.

"_Harry Potter and the Second Interview with_ - Gah!" Harry stared at the title in disgust. "This is unbelievable!"

Ginny guffawed loudly and allowed herself to fall back against the couch. Andromeda was smirking, on the verge of laughter. Teddy's hair had gone back to his favorite turquoise and he was laughing despite not knowing what was so funny, and Harry simply stared in disbelief.

"Andromeda, I don't want Teddy reading a word of this," said Harry. "Ron and Hermione and I can tell him what really happened. Oh, she'd better not have taken any shots at Sirius!"

"Calm down, Harry," said Ginny.

"Keep it," said Andromeda.

"Did you read it?" asked Harry.

"Well, yes," said Andromeda. "But I took everything with a grain of salt, of course."

"Well, it's all codswallop, as Hagrid would say," said Harry. "We'd best get going. It's getting late and I don't want Teddy awake through all hours of the night."

Ginny stared at Harry for a moment, slightly taken aback.

"You have no idea," said Andromeda, hoisting Teddy up over her shoulder. "Goodbye, Harry, Ginny. Come again soon. Sorry about the tea."

"I had fun," said Harry. "Goodbye, Andromeda. Goodbye, Teddy!"

"See you," added Ginny.

"Wotcha!" squeaked Teddy as Andromeda carried him off to bed.

Harry and Ginny showed themselves out and ambled across the cement walkway towards Harry's bike.

"I can't believe Rita," mumbled Harry.

"I can't believe _you,_" replied Ginny.

"What?" Harry withdrew his flight goggles from his pocket and replaced his spectacles with them, resting the goggles atop his forehead.

"You're just ... great." Ginny threw her leg over Sirius Black's motorbike and sat near the back of the seat. "I'm a lucky girl, I am."

"Really?" Harry sat backwards on the bike so that he was facing her. "You're acting ... emotional. In a good way, though."

"I reckon..." Ginny looked to the sky thoughtfully. "Hermione told me about Ron and Helinora, and how Ron was so ... fatherly. It really impressed her."

"Ron could calculate two plus two and impress her."

"She doesn't tell you two the things she tells me," continued Ginny. "She probably doesn't feel comfortable, since you're blokes."

"Why? Has she been bad-mouthing me?" Harry formed an exaggerated frown.

"No. She's just been good-mouthing Ron." Ginny widened her eyes. "That didn't come out right."

"I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but that could be taken two ways." Harry waggled his eyebrows and grinned.

"Anyway," said Ginny. Her cheeks burned red. "She goes on and on about how great he is. I guess it's just something girls respond to."

"So you're saying I'm fatherly towards Teddy?" Harry smiled weakly. "I wish I could be a father to him, but I can't. I'll be there every step of the way, though, like Sirius wanted to be."

"Don't go on any more joyrides then," suggested Ginny. She was leaning towards him so slowly he didn't notice. "Lest you get thrown in Azkaban for violating the decree of ... not showing Muggles magical stuff..."

"I'm not familiar with that particular decree." Harry gravitated towards Ginny subconsciously. "Can't promise anything. Neville turned out all right, and he was in the same situation."

"You turned out all right too," said Ginny, so close now that her nose threatened to brush against his. "Grand, in fact."

"Then so will Teddy." Harry's breathing shallowed the closer they became. "I really love him."

"I love _you._" Ginny closed the rest of the distance and met Harry's lips, still seeing the image of his acid-green irises long after she'd closed her eyes.

"I love you too," sighed Harry happily as they broke apart.

"Is that the first time we've said that?" wondered Ginny. "It can't be."

"To me, it is." Harry shrugged. "This all feels surreal to me. A normal life. As normal as it's going to get, at least."

"I doubt it'll ever be calm. Not with the Bandits, and Ron's - er - _problem_, and whatever madness George is up to." Ginny tilted her head curiously. "He hasn't told you anything, has he?"

"No, nothing. Ron's been grilling him too, but no luck."

"Do you really want it to be calm, anyway?"

"Calm? No. Peaceful, yes. You're my shred of stability in this world, you know that?"

"Oh, thanks." Ginny snorted. "Go on, Potter. Let's ride."

"That too can be taken two ways." Harry grinned and turned around to face the handlebars.

"As can that." Ginny curled her arms around his waist.

"Blimey, I hadn't even thought of that," said Harry. Ginny laughed.

"That's why you have me."


	7. Bandit Interlude

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

* * *

By the time the vibrant scarlet Hogwarts Express stopped at Hogsmeade station and began flooding the wizarding village with black-robed students, the sun had disappeared over the mountains to the west. At the end of the main road, a massive bearded man was guiding first-year students towards the shore of the Great Lake, where several old wooden rowboats were parked in the sand.

Returning students were directed by the dustbin lid-sized hand of the towering man towards a long dirt trail beside the lake that led up to Hogwarts castle. Several coaches awaited them at the beginning of the trail; there were no horses, yet the coaches still began rolling up towards the castle when occupied, pulled along by an invisible force. The silhouette of Hogwarts castle stood tall on its hill, with several yellow blips of light shining from its many turrets.

Four second-year Hufflepuff students were grouped together among the throng of witches and wizards, shoving their way through the crowd to reach an empty carriage. The four young Hufflepuffs received mixed reactions from the crowd, as word had spread of their involvement in the fabled Portable Swamp incident on the Hogwarts Express at the end of the previous school year. Some, who beamed in admiration, were too afraid of falling victim to their mischief to approach them. Others, who gave disgruntled glares, would simply rather avoid them.

The quartet consisted of three wizards and one witch: their leader, Sherman Roque, with his blue eyes, short blonde flat top, and Muggle adhesive bandages over his cheek and the bridge of his nose; Simon 'Munky' Beech, tall, bony, and Asian, with his big ears and teeth; Adrian 'Blackboot' Starr, with his icy blue eyes and messy shoulder-length black hair, now walking in new boots; and Elena 'Ellie' Summers, with her long, wavy auburn hair and slightly chubby cheeks.

The Battle-Axe Bandits hopped up into an empty coach and it began its trek up the path to Hogwarts, rolling at a slow pace.

"Oh, stop _staring_ at her," growled Elena, whacking Blackboot's shoulder.

He grunted distractedly, his eyes still fixed on the coach in front of them, which was occupied by their fellow Hufflepuff Donna Wessger and her friends.

"Oi," sighed Roque. "Blackboot, you ignorant gumby."

"What?" Blackboot finally turned back to face his friends. "What are you talking about?"

"You're ogling that succubus again," said Elena. "She's vile. Just look at her over there with the popular clique."

"Yeah," added Munky in mock agreement. "How dare she be pretty?"

"She's a distraction!" urged Roque. "Before you know it, you'll be spending all your time trying to impress Donna like a big idiot when you should have your mind on the mission!"

"We don't have a mission every day," argued Blackboot. "I have plenty of time - not that it'll take much. Just a few seconds to put on my usual charm."

"Ugh," groaned Elena, rolling her eyes.

"What'd she do to you, anyway?" asked Blackboot.

"Er - well - she's..." Elena stammered, then feigned a cough to buy herself time. "She's a distraction, as Sherman said. You're ..."

"I'm what?" Blackboot raised an eyebrow.

"You're fraternizing with the enemy!" Elena huffed and raised her chin triumphantly.

"What in Barnabus's name are you talking about?"

"I don't have to explain myself."

"Yes you do!" growled Blackboot, sitting up straight. "You're being annoying."

"Well, you're being pathetic!"

Roque and Munky shared a knowing look, then exhaled sighs in unison.

"You're just angry because people fancy me, because I'm not berating everyone all the time!"

"Oh, thanks for your analysis, but I'll pass!" Elena stood to peer down at him intimidatingly. "I'll bet if I put your brain in a dragon it would fly backwards!"

"Would you two fools pipe down?" said Roque as they pulled up at Hogwarts' front gates and hopped down from their coach. "Stop fighting. We need to discuss the mission tonight."

"Quiet!" urged Munky, nodding behind Roque. Roque turned to see the tiny Sean Albright, still as short as he was last year, listening intently to their whispers. "Filch's little lapdog is listening."

"Won't be so tough without that Malfoy punk, will he?" said Blackboot. "I think I might give him a little black eye..."

"Not tonight," said Roque. "Besides, didn't we already exact our revenge?"

"So everyone saw his bum, big deal," said Munky. "He's so small and white they probably thought it was a fairy."

"Yeah, I thought we were working on something else for him," said Elena. "My teeth still hurt."

"Fine, but after the mission," said Roque.

As the students entered the vast front gate with its many interlocking steel bars, they saw a congregation of House ghosts gathered in the Entrance Hall in quiet discussion. The maniacal cackle of Peeves the Poltergeist could be heard coming from around a corner no student dared turn. The students were escorted to the Great Hall by the Head Boy of Hogwarts, Dennis Creevey, who took the role of a tour guide, indicating points of interest.

"These are the statues of the Golden Trio," said Dennis, gesturing towards three small figurines that stood on a pedestal in front of a much larger statue of a chubby warlock. "See, there's Harry Potter, with Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger."

"We know, Dennis," said a light-skinned black boy with short curly hair. The red lining of his robes indicated he was in Gryffindor. "The first-years aren't even here. They're probably in the Boathouse right now."

"Oh. Er - You're right, Con." Dennis chuckled nervously. "I'll just wait for them, then. Everyone else, go in."

"You're a credit to the school," mumbled Con with a smirk as he walked through to the Great Hall.

The Great Hall was vast and tall, its walls flickering in the dim golden light of its many torches. The ceiling, bewitched to display the night sky above, was a clear midnight blue, cluttered with several stars and the crescent moon. Just below the enchanted ceiling were numerous plain white candles floating at various heights above the House banners, illuminating the room.

In the center of the hall, there were four long House tables that stretched across to the far end. Beyond the House tables was a dais upon which the staff table stood. In front of the staff table there was a shining golden podium adorned with an owl statue that would spread its wings when a staff member approached it to speak. Behind the staff stage was a battered wooden door that led to the Trophy Room.

The Bandits took their seats at the Hufflepuff table, below several checkered black-and-yellow banners embroidered with the symbol of the Hufflepuff badger. As Blackboot was the first Bandit to enter the Great Hall, he'd been the one to decide where they'd sit, and it happened to be beside Donna Wessger and her posse of giggling girls. Elena agreed to the seating arrangement begrudgingly, sitting with her arms crossed and vigilantly scowling in Donna's direction.

At the staff table, Professors Sprout and Flitwick were chuckling merrily over an apparently humorous story told by Professor Longbottom while the Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, pretended not to hear. The wide Professor Slughorn was brushing his walrus mustache in thought as he discussed something with the muscular Professor Astadourian. Argus Filch, the grizzled caretaker of Hogwarts, was brushing his clothes dry with a handkerchief beside an apologetic Professor Trelawney who was refilling her glass of pumpkin juice.

Just after the students had settled into quiet chatter, the big double doors of the Great Hall swung open again to admit the gigantic Hagrid, who was followed by a frightened-looking line of first-year students who hadn't yet been Sorted or acquired House badges. They formed a line in front of the staff table, and Filch proceeded to place a small wooden stool in front of the owl podium, then place atop it an old grimy witches' hat that had been ripped and patched in several places.

"So, Donna, how was your summer?" asked Blackboot.

"Oh, hello." Donna smiled. "It was fine. I visited my grand-"

"Yeah, cool," said Munky, as the Sorting Hat began to speak. "Blackboot, we need to go over the plan."

"Fine," said Blackboot, leaning into the Bandits' huddle. Donna huffed beside him. "When will we do it?"

"In a few weeks." Roque leaned in. "You do remember what we're doing, right?"

"Hey, who's the one with fifty Decoy Detonators in his school trunk?" shot Blackboot. "I'm a Bandit through and through."

"Actually, we put them in Elena's," said Munky. Elena spit up a bit of pumpkin juice.

"What?" she exclaimed. She looked around, wary of eavesdroppers, then dropped her voice and said, "Why?"

"You're the innocent one." Roque patted her shoulder. "Teachers won't suspect you."

"They will once they find my trunk full of explosives!" she hissed. "Why couldn't we have kept Granger's bag?"

"Because George said we shouldn't," said Roque. "The moment we turn our back on George, we've stopped being true Bandits."

"I don't want that bloody bomb in the Girls' Dormitory." Elena recoiled slightly as a diverse spread of food appeared before them on plates and goblets that covered nearly every inch of the Hufflepuff table. "We're storing them somewhere else."

"Fine, we'll find another place." Roque shook his head. "Insolent girl."

"Wait a minute," said Munky. He bent down and retrieved what appeared to be a human ear attached to a long white thread. "_Aha!_"

"Here, look," said Roque.

He finished his goblet of pumpkin juice and grabbed Munky's empty silver goblet, then banged them together over the Extendable Ear. A shriek could be heard from the Gryffindor table, where Con Castle could be seen frantically trying to remove the end of the white thread from his ear.

"Conrad Castle," explained Roque. "He's starting to annoy me."

"You still haven't told us what we're going to destroy," said Blackboot.

"We aren't destroying anything," said Roque, his voice a mere whisper now. "Remember the sealed passageway on the fourth floor? George said he and Fred used it before it caved in six years ago. Leads to the storage hut behind Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop."

"Why don't we just use the One-Eyed Witch passageway?" asked Munky.

"Filch knows about it. George said he told Filch about the secret passages so he could guard them during the Battle."

"Filch knows about the one on the fourth floor, then, doesn't he?" asked Elena.

"Yes, but he thinks it's blocked off." Roque grinned. "George said it's big enough to fit a pretty big gathering of people. It'll be our new hideout. We can use it to smuggle Butterbeer into the school and sell to the first and second-years that aren't allowed into Hogsmeade yet."

"That's brilliant!" declared Blackboot.

"And finally, Quidditch tryouts begin in two weeks," concluded Professor McGonagall. "Well, now, your stomachs are full. Tomorrow we'll see if we can do the same to your heads. Off to bed. Pip pip."

The Bandits dropped their forks over their cleaned plates and squeezed through the crowded Great Hall to the exit, then turned left towards the Hufflepuff basement.

Con Castle remained at the Gryffindor table, rubbing his pained ear and tensing his eyebrows in thought. Then, his eyes widened, as he witnessed a tiny blonde boy in Slytherin robes crawling out from under the Hufflepuff table. Con quickly stood and jogged towards the tiny eavesdropper, following him out of the Great Hall and into a corridor that led to the Slytherin dungeons.

* * *

In the vast atrium of the Ministry of Magic, one of the many gold-plated fireplaces growled with a blazing roar of its green flames and spat a gangly orange-haired boy out onto the polished wooden floor. He rolled like a big bony tumbleweed wrapped in cobalt robes until he skidded to a stop, staring down at the shiny wooden floor at his own blue-eyed reflection.

He coughed soot from his lungs and rose to his feet, then immediately found his legs being swept from under him as the fireplace hurled another young man out into the atrium. Ron stood for a second time, then crouched down to aid his fallen friend, who had unruly black hair, glasses, and a jagged lightning bolt scar.

"What is it with these Ministry Floos?" asked Harry as he clutched Ron's hand and stood. "I can never land correctly."

"I guess we just need experience," said Ron, observing several witches and wizards walking causally out of the row of fireplaces whence they came. "They seem fine."

Harry and Ron brushed the black dust from their robes then proceeded down the hall. They were forced to register their visit with Magical Security as they weren't there on business, and soon found themselves standing with their palms pressed against a wall as twin blonde security witches scanned their bodies with devices that looked like golden tuning forks.

"Morning, Charlotte," said Ron. "And Lydia."

"Have we met?" asked one of them.

"I'm Percy's brother." Ron turned around once he'd been sufficiently searched.

"Lucky you."

"I'm Harry Potter," said Harry, smiling. "I'm Ron's friend."

"Nice to meet you," said either Charlotte or Lydia, sounding somewhat bored. "Go on, the lifts are just there."

Harry and Ron retrieved their wands from the security desk and stepped past the monumental fountain, stopping for a moment to admire the shimmering golden statues of Albus Dumbledore, the smiling House-Elf, the grimacing Goblin, and the proud Centaur. Harry flicked a bronze Knut into the pool before following Ron around the corner towards a row of lifts with wrought golden grilles. With a great clanging, the grilles swung open to admit the two young men, then clashed shut once they'd entered.

There were two other passengers on the lift: the first, Harry and Ron immediately noticed, was the unmissable Higgins, with his wide body, thick eyeglasses, and sweat-slicked forehead. He wore extremely tight-fitting black robes that were so small for him they stopped at his tree trunk-sized shins. The only thing missing was the handkerchief he used to use so frequently to wipe his forehead.

Beside Higgins, dwarfed by his imposing belly, stood a familiar dark-skinned girl with long black hair and full lips, dressed in purple robes. She smiled warmly to them and stepped forward as if to hug them, but stopped once she remembered the large stack of books in her arms.

"Parvati!" exclaimed Harry, grinning. "Are you working here?"

"Hello, Harry, Ron," she replied. "I'm starting today. Department of Magical Transport."

"Excellent." Ron smiled. "Oh, hello, Higgins."

"Hello." Higgins wiped his face with the sleeve of his robes. "Why is it so _hot?_"

"Why are you here?" asked Parvati. "Visiting Hermione? I saw her earlier when I applied."

"Yeah," said Ron. "That, and we have a hearing for exposing Muggles to magic."

"We basically flew in public," explained Harry.

"So I've heard." Parvati smirked.

Then, the wrought gold grills swung open with a squeal of their metal hinges and a calm, feminine voice sounded through the lift: "_Level seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office._"

Harry and Ron found that the massive Higgins was just as big a deterrent for new passengers as Umbridge when several witches and wizards opted to wait for the next lift.

"Are you in serious trouble?" asked Parvati.

"I doubt it," replied Harry.

"_Level six, Department of Magical Transport, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparation Test Center,_" continued the voice.

"That's me," said Parvati. "Goodbye."

She lugged her stack of tomes through the open gate and disappeared down a hallway. Higgins turned to Harry and Ron.

"So, are you aware of the severity of your actions?" he said. "Do you agree never to repeat them, under penalty of a short sentence in Azkaban?"

"What?" Harry frowned. "Yes, of course."

"We're not going to waste time with an actual hearing," explained Higgins. "We just needed an official hearing on record to log the infraction."

"Wicked," breathed Ron.

"That doesn't mean you'll get away with it in the future," said Higgins, wiping his forehead again. "The hearing is now adjourned."

"_Level five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law, and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats._"

"Goodbye." Higgins squeezed through the doorway and waddled off into a corridor.

"Did we even need to be here for this?" wondered Ron as the lift descended again.

"I think so," said Harry. "I reckon they needed to register our wands at the security desk as proof."

"_Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau._"

"Let's go," said Harry, leading the way out of the lift.

Harry and Ron walked down a hallway with several windows that displayed sunny skies, despite the floor being underground. Ron assumed the Ministry must have met the demands of the Magical Maintenance workers. They passed the Office of Misinformation and found themselves at the end of the corridor standing before three doors, all marked with an eagle logo and the names '_Being,_' '_Beast,_' and '_Spirit._'

Ron opened the door marked '_Being,_' revealing a large block of cubicles similar in appearance to the Auror Headquarters. Employees had decorated their cubicles with pictures of family, posters of Quidditch teams, and other trinkets. Harry looked to the wall next to the door and saw no sign of the other two doors.

"Portals," explained Ron as they began walking down an aisle. "Ministry stuff. Quite complicated."

"Right." Harry scoffed. "Where's Hermione?"

"Right at the end, there," said Ron, pointing to the end of the row of cubicles. "Right by the coffee."

"Oh, let's take some."

Harry approached the bubbling cauldron of milky brown liquid, fetched two cups from the table next to it, and tapped his wand at its base. A nozzle appeared at the bottom and began leaking coffee into Harry's cup, then into Ron's once Harry's was full. They tapped their mugs together before basking in the warmth and scent of the drinks.

"Teddy's speaking a lot now," said Harry conversationally. "You should come visit him with me."

"Bring me next time, then," said Ron. "What's he saying, anyway? Wotcher?"

"That, and a bad word Lee said around him at the shop."

"Which one?" Ron grinned.

"Andromeda wouldn't tell me, but I think Lee's favorite is fu-"

"Hey!" cried a voice from beside Harry. "What are you doing?"

Harry and Ron turned to see a young wizard in black robes. He had long, curly brown hair, and a thin face that was currently tensed in irritation.

"Visitors can't just take coffee like that!" he continued.

"We're Aurors-in-training," explained Ron.

"Hah!" the man threw his hands in the air. His hair flopped wildly. "Well that's rich!"

"What's going on?" asked a familiar feminine voice from the nearest cubicle. Out peeked the bushy-haired head of Hermione Granger, who eyed the scene curiously. "Harry? Ron?"

"Hey, Hermione," said Ron. Harry smiled beside him. "Who's this bloke?"

"How many visitors do you intend on having?" demanded the man. "They're taking coffee."

"There's plenty of coffee in there," said Hermione. She left her cubicle and approached them, followed by a pale girl with bright red hair and a visitor's badge. "Besides, these aren't my visitors."

"Hi!" said Harry a bit too loudly. "I mean, hello, Ginny."

"Hello." Ginny smirked.

"Oh, Harry, Ron, this is..." Hermione turned to the curly-haired man, but he'd already disappeared into the grid of cubicles. "That _was_ Travis. He's a bit on edge."

"Really?" said Ron. "Hadn't noticed."

"What are you two doing here?" asked Ginny, nodding to their visitor's badges.

"We had a hearing," explained Harry. "For our little trip over London. It's just ended."

"Why wasn't I told?" asked Hermione. "What was the verdict?"

"Er - they let us off with a warning."

"Oh. Well, the Wizengamot is quite fair, after all." Hermione nodded. "Especially these days."

"Yeah they're a real pack of sunshine," said Ron. "Come on, let's see your cubicle."

"Oh, I haven't done much with it," said Hermione, leading the way.

Hermione's cubicle wasn't decorated but for the locket Ron had given her the previous Christmas that contained a magical photograph of Harry, Ron, and herself in their second year at Hogwarts. There were mountainous reams of parchment, unfolded interdepartmental memos, and several broken quills.

"Look at all this paperwork," said Ron. "Will we have to do this sort of stuff when we're Aurors?"

"Probably." Hermione smiled at Ron's horrified grimace. "Oh! I'm glad you two stopped by. I've got great news."

"Promoted?" guessed Harry. "Already?"

"Oh no," said Hermione, her cheeks reddening slightly. "Not yet, no. I've started a House-Elf support group within the Ministry. It's been sanctioned by the Minister, of course."

"What's it called?"

"House-Elves United for Rights and Liberty."

"H.U.R.L.?" said Ron. Ginny snorted.

"Er..." Hermione frowned. "Shut up."

"Well, we'd like to join," said Harry.

"Oh, there are no badges or anything," said Hermione. "That unfortunately isn't very effective. Kingsley's started us off by creating a House-Elf register. Families must now register their House-Elves. It's a start. It'll help us ensure there's no mistreatment."

"Then we'll move on to give them full human rights?" guessed Ron. Hermione's eyes sparkled with adoration, presumably at his choice of the word 'we.'

"Yes."

"How'd the tryouts go?" asked Harry.

"I'm confident I've outshined the competition," replied Ginny. "Half of the entrants were men, so that narrowed it down."

"Utterly sexist," said Hermione. "A witch-only Quidditch team. Honestly."

"Well, the locker room is a bit less awkward," said Ginny, grinning. "No blokes around to try and peek at you."

"You're right!" Harry smiled. "It's a brilliant idea! Don't let them trade you."

"That's if I'm accepted," said Ginny.

"You will be," said Harry. "You're excellent."

"Such flattery," said Ginny, grinning. "Are you buttering me up for some bad news, or are you just trying to get into my -"

"_Agh!_" groaned Ron. "Stop that!"

"Fine," said Harry, his eyes narrowing. He looked around, then gestured towards a nearby door, grinning wickedly. "Here, Ginny, join me in my office, won't you?"

"No thanks -" Ginny squinted to read the nameplate on the door. "_Dan._ I'm a bit hungry."

"Good idea." Hermione fetched her bag from her cubicle and led the way down the hall. "There's an excellent Thai place on the next block."

"Don't suppose they have wings?" said Ron wistfully.

"Not from chickens," said Hermione mysteriously. Ron simply stared. "Fine, they'll be from chickens. Pardon me for attempting to broaden your horizons."

"My horizons are a bit too broad," said Ron. "I'm probably the only person here who's eaten 'dusty table drumsticks.'"


	8. First Learn Balance

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

* * *

"All right, Harry?" asked a boy with faded bloodred hair, leaning with his elbow against a black fireplace. "You can do this. Destination, deterioration, and domination -"

"Those aren't the correct words," interrupted a smirking girl with chocolate-brown eyes and bushy hair that was currently done up in an elegant bun. "Besides, that's Apparition, not Floo travel!"

"Be quiet!" barked a third person from within the fireplace, his acid-green eyes the same color as the flames over which the upper half of his body was visible. "Here goes."

"Don't mess it up," warned Ron, grinning. Hermione nudged him in the ribs.

"_Ministry of Magic!_" shouted Harry, opening his hand to release a stream of olive-colored Floo powder over the emerald fire.

The flames roared and engulfed Harry completely, then he was gone, as if the fireplace had swallowed him. Hermione turned and looked at Ron expectantly.

"Go on," said Ron, nodding towards the fireplace.

"No, you go," she said. "I want to make sure you're all right."

"I'm fine," growled Ron. "It's been three days. I'm perfectly fine."

"Then go." Hermione stepped aside.

"We could go together." Ron grinned.

"You've got a hard enough time on your own," said Hermione, crossing her arms.

"Suit yourself." Ron cleared his throat, scooped a pile of Floo powder from a tray that was made from a Grindylow skull, and hopped into the fireplace.

"Don't mess it up!" exclaimed Hermione suddenly. Ron flinched and dropped his handful of Floo powder.

"_Ministry of Magic!_" he yelped quickly before the flames consumed him and the fireplace gulped him down.

Struggling to suppress her sniggering, Hermione imitated her two friends and traveled through the Floo network to the Ministry. As she expertly maintained her balance on the tricky log-cluttered landing, she found herself stepping out into the vast and golden Ministry atrium. Her first sight upon entering the hall was her fallen boyfriend, Ron, who lay sprawled comically over the polished wooden floor, surrounded by several giggling Ministry workers and guests.

"_Bloody hell,_" he breathed, rising to his feet and brushing himself off. "That wasn't funny."

Hermione looked around at the gaggle of laughing and hooting witches and wizards, then said, "You're right. Not the least bit humorous."

"How'd you do?" grumbled Ron, nodding to Harry, whose smirk faded.

"Let's just say I warmed them up for you." Harry rubbed a new bruise on his arm. "Just barely lost my balance."

The atrium shone with its usual radiance, from the rich peacock-blue ceiling to the sparkling golden fountains. Harry, Ron, and Hermione greeted the twin red-robed Magical Security witches in passing on their way to the lifts and received identical grunts of acknowledgment. With a metallic clanging, the golden grilles of a nearby lift opened to welcome them. They stepped in, and Hermione began rummaging through her black beaded bag while the grilles clashed shut again and they began to descend.

"Here," she said, withdrawing a rucksack that was larger than the bag in which it had been carried and handing it to Harry. She pulled another bag from her black pouch and handed it to Ron. "Your Potions kits, Cursebreaking scrolls, and Incumbo potions are inside."

"Incumbo potions?" asked Ron, throwing the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

"You should already know! They'll help you concentrate," explained Hermione. "Be careful, though, people tend to be a bit ... intense ... when under the effects of an Incumbo potion."

"Intense?" asked Harry.

"You'll see." Hermione grimaced apologetically.

Then, a cool, feminine voice breezed through the lift: "_Level seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office._"

"How's Hurl going?" asked Harry.

"_H.U.R.L.,_" said Hermione, her eyes narrowing. "Is doing well. Hundreds have already registered their House-Elves. We've got trainees and interns scouring England for known House-Elf own - er - employers."

"Why can't we just make it illegal to own a House-Elf?" asked Ron.

"One step at a time."

"Right... Rome wasn't burnt in a day, and all that. I see."

"_Level six, Department of Magical Transport, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparation Test Center._"

The grilles clanged open to admit two elderly wizards Harry recognized as Wizengamot Elders, then slammed shut again before they began to descend.

"Hello," said Hermione gleefully. The wizards nodded curtly.

There was a bit of foot-tapping and awkward whistling from Harry and Ron as Hermione maintained a nervous smile.

"_Level five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law, and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats._"

The lift gates opened for a few more passengers, and several off-white paper airplanes that darted frantically overhead. Their eagerness to reach their destination reminded Ron of Pigwidgeon.

"_Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau._"

"Meet me in Arthur's office for lunch?" asked Hermione as the Wizengamot wizards and other passengers stepped out into the busy department.

Harry nodded, while Ron swept in towards Hermione to press his lips to hers. Her initial reaction was a grin that formed over her reddening cheeks, then she quickly looked around to check for witnesses among her co-workers as she stepped out into the hallway.

"Good luck!" she called after the lift doors swung shut and they sank down to the next floor.

"You're just determined to embarrass her," said Harry, glancing at Ron and his wicked grin.

"I'm determined to snog her," he corrected. "That part's just a bonus."

"_Level three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee._"

Nobody was waiting at this floor to use the lift, so it did not stop. As they passed the floor, Harry and Ron caught a glimpse of a man limping into an office with a tree branch protruding from his hip, then exiting a moment later with no sign of the branch, its leaves, or the birds nest formerly perched atop it.

"_Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services._"

Harry and Ron walked between the rattling golden bars as the gate opened, and traveled down the familiar corridor that led to the Auror Headquarters. The hallway was lined with doors that led to various branches of the department, and windows that told of sunny weather, despite facing solid earth. At the end of the hall, the duo reached a set of heavy oak double-doors, where a page of parchment had been posted.

"This must be the squad assignments," said Harry. Ron reached for the bill and attempted to peel it off, but it quickly slapped his hand away.

"Bugger," mumbled Ron. He squinted to read the parchment, and Harry noted his murky post-transformation eyes. "Where have we been assigned? Looks like ... Blue six."

"Teal Team Six," said Harry, leaning in to examine the teal-colored 6 on the parchment. "H. Potter, R. Weasley, E. Macmillan, and C. Murdoch. Hermione was right."

"I thought Aurors worked in pairs," said Ron.

"They do, but they widened it for training. They expect two from every team of four to - er - survive, as they say."

"Do you get to choose your partner?" asked Ron.

"I'm sure we'll be partners." Harry grinned. "Who are they going to put me with? Clarinda?"

"You don't have to make it sound so horrible!" laughed a voice from behind them.

They turned to see the grinning face of Clarinda Murdoch, with her short black hair and panda-style eye makeup.

"Clarinda!" Harry smiled. "I didn't mean it like that."

"It's okay!" Clarinda threw her arms around him and tugged him into a tight hug. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," managed Harry, patting her back. Ron was sniggering at Harry until Clarinda moved on to hug him. He looked violated.

"I heard about your little stunt at the Quidditch World Cup. Still at it, then, aren't you? I wish I could have been there. Was it fun? Ron, did you get another Howler?" She said all of this very quickly, and Ron suspected she'd have kept on had she not run out of breath.

"She howled at me in person," said Ron. "Besides, how do you know about that Howler? You didn't go to Hogwarts."

"Rita's book," said Harry. "Remember?"

"That, and there's a song about it," said Clarinda. She closed her eyes, then sang, "_And Ron got a Howler, from Mrs. Weasley-_"

"Oi," grumbled Ron. "Let's go in before we're late."

"We're in Teal Team Six together," said Harry, leaning his back against the oak double doors and pushing them open. "With Ernie."

"Great!" Clarinda smiled. "I like him. He's polite."

"Oh, terribly polite," mumbled Harry, remembering the vision Ernie puffing his chest out to display his _Potter Stinks_ badge.

They entered the Auror Headquarters, which was a vast grid of cubicles with varying decorations inside, frequent avalanches of high stacks of paperwork piled on the desks, and swarms of paper airplanes zooming overhead that acted as interdepartmental memos. As Harry was at eye level with the cubicle walls, unable to see far into the maze, he followed Ron's lead. It had been a while since he'd appreciated how tall Ron had become: Harry guessed six feet four inches by comparison to his own height.

"There's Ernie," said Ron.

They turned left into a small stretch of open space where a gathering of attentive witches and wizards stood in a small square. As Harry, Ron, and Clarinda budged into the group beside their squadmate Ernie Macmillan, they saw that the crowd was gathered around a small, wispy old wizard in bland gray robes. Only the tip of his bulbous nose was visible under the brim of his witch hat.

He stood with a pronounced hunch, supported by a large walking stick that had a big wooden knot at the end, which Harry recognized as the staff of Alastor Moody. Harry supposed he must have been an old colleague of Moody's, as he trusted Kingsley to ensure the proper distribution of Moody's belongings.

"Is that everyone?" he asked. The crowd began eying each other unsurely.

The man tapped the staff into the shiny wooden office floor. The page of parchment stuck to the door at the entrance to the office whipped into his hand. He tapped the staff again, illuminating blips of various colors on the page, then nodded his head with a satisfied hum.

"Looks like it." He began scuffling towards the heavy oak doors. "Follow me."

The trainees followed him down the hall whence they came, passing the lifts and descending down a gray stone staircase at the end of the hall.

"Gawain Robards," said the man. "Head of the Auror Office. You'll be training here in the dungeons."

They reached the bottom of the stone steps and walked into a dark tunnel. Torches on either wall illuminated when they neared, then fizzled out behind them as they passed. The hallway was silent but for the rustle of robes, the patter of footsteps, and the echo of dripping water somewhere off in the distance. As they reached the end of the tunnel, two torches illuminated a big bolted steel door, which swung open heavily with a swish of Mr. Robards's wand.

They entered a large and dank dungeon that was warm with the fire of burning cauldrons, and pungent with the smell of bubbling potions. Harry, Ron, and Ernie were immediately reminded of their Dumbledore's Army sessions in the Room of Requirement, though this room was much bigger and darker. The far wall was lined with tables that carried black cauldrons and several jars and vials of ingredients.

The wall to their left featured several thick metal doors similar to the one at the entrance. There were burnt pages of parchment scattered on the floor around these doors. At the center of the room, there were rows of wooden dummies that looked like scarecrows, all carrying wand-shaped twigs. Mr. Robards began walking towards the lit cauldrons on the far end of the room.

"You'll be starting immediately," he said. "You will begin by brewing the Wiggenweld potion. You have thirteen minutes."

Ignoring the indignant groan of the crowd, Mr. Robards began calling names in aphabetical order at three minute intervals. Harry nudged Ron's elbow, then gestured towards his bag. Ron nodded and withdrew his vial of the Incumbo potion Hermione had given them. They tapped their vials together and downed the pale purple liquid in one gulp. It took effect instantly: They observed each other's eyes bulging slightly and cracking with red lines as their breathing became quicker.

Upon hearing their name called, each of the trainees rushed to the table, set up their potions kit, and hurriedly executed the complex Wiggenweld procedure. Only a few people achieved the task within the thirteen minute mark, but did not enjoy any rest, as they were immediately ordered to execute Timed Charms on the other side of the room; Ernie, who was among the successful potioneers, couldn't even afford the time to brag about his 'Outstanding' score in his Potions N.E.W.T.

Harry finished his Wiggenweld potion in nineteen minutes and proceeded to the Charms drills. By the time he'd gotten there, several trainees had already progressed to Cursebreaking practice on the many doors of the west wall, then to target practice on the scarecrows in the center, then to Expansive Transfiguration at the other end of the room. There was a raised platform in the corner upon which Mr. Robards would occasionally order two aspiring Aurors to duel.

After completing this cycle, trainees would then do it all over again with a different potion, Charms challenge, cursebreaking test, and dueling partner. Though Harry had trouble with the Potions segment despite the occasional tip he'd remembered from the Half-Blood Prince, he cruised through the Charms challenges, target practice, dueling, and even found the Cursebreaking quite easy due to his research of protective charms for use with the D.A. as well as the concentration granted by the Incumbo potion.

Ron had similar success, but became fatigued more easily as he was recovering from his transformation a few days prior. Ernie proved to be a Potions ace, but had difficulty grasping the Cursebreaking trials. Clarinda wasn't as skilled as Ernie at Potions, nor as quick as Harry and Ron at dueling, but began to shine the brightest of all the trainees after a few hours, as she seemingly never ran out of energy. While those around her began to pant and clutch stitches in their sides, resulting in sloppier work, she pressed on with a smile.

"Lunch?" scoffed the patrolling Mr. Robards, when questioned by an exhausted trainee. "Hah! No breaks!"

Harry didn't have the energy to send a Patronus message to Hermione to tell her they couldn't join her in the afternoon.

There was one break, however, a few hours later, as Mr. Robards excused himself to attend to business upstairs. There was a collective thud as the trainees ceased all forms of training and collapsed onto the ground, basking in the chill of the cool stone floor.

"I'm shit tired," declared Ron. "Merlin."

There was a murmur of agreement from those with enough energy to speak.

"Hey, did any of you beat Harry in a duel?" asked Clarinda. "He mopped the floor with me!"

Harry was busy snoring into the floor.

"I did," said Ron.

There was a piercing metallic screech when the heavy door swung open again, but it wasn't Mr. Robards that appeared in the doorway, but a middle-aged witch with shoulder-length blonde hair and an eyepatch. The crowd of trainees scrambled to their feet and stood as straight as their worn muscles would permit.

"Hello, cadets," she said. "I'm Phoebe Selwyn, your Drill Instructor."

When the training day finally ended, the aspiring Aurors were too tired to leave. Mrs. Selwyn, who had anticipated this, informed them that she'd be at Auror Headquarters, and exited through the heavy steel door. After some pestering from a miraculously energetic Clarinda, Harry, Ron, and Ernie climbed to their feet and exited the Training Room. They crawled up the dungeon steps at the end of the long tunnel like dogs, not trusting their legs to handle the job alone.

"I wonder if it gets any easier," said Harry as they stepped into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. A nearby cat-shaped clock informed them the time was 8:51. "How can people do this four days a week?"

"It'll be fine," said Clarinda. Harry scowled at her cheerful grin.

"I need food in me," declared Ron. "Wonder if Ginny made anything?"

"Probably," said Harry.

"You live with Ginny Weasley?" asked Clarinda. "And you really are dating?"

"Yeah." Harry smiled. "We live at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, if you ever want to stop by."

"How about tonight?" asked Clarinda as they arrived at the lift. She jabbed the button, and the rattling of the elevator grew louder as it lowered to their level. "I'm hungry too, you know!"

Harry shared a look with Ron, then said, "Er, all right then. Ernie?"

"I suppose I could visit."

The lift appeared before them and threw its grilles open to admit them. They stepped in and sat down, riding it all the way up to the atrium, then stepped out. Harry had seen the Ministry at night once before, though he was slightly distracted by the duel occurring between Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore. The vast hall was illuminated chiefly by the glowing peacock-blue ceiling with its shifting gold-and-silver symbols.

"The Floos are closed," said Clarinda, leading the way to the visitor's exit. "We'll have to leave through here."

The visitor's exit was a small chamber with a large purple tube hanging from the ceiling, made of a cloth material. Clarinda stepped under it and was immediately sucked into the ceiling. Harry stepped under the tube and felt a strong wind rise from the ground and lift him through the portal as he struggled to keep his glasses on. He found himself ejected out of an open dumpster in a dingy London alleyway. The dumpster threw Ernie and Ron out behind him.

"How are we going to get home?" said Ron. "I have enough trouble Apparating when I'm at full strength - how in the name of Merlin-"

Ron's question was answered by a deafening _BANG_, and the rubbery shriek of a nearby vehicle braking beside them. Harry, Ron, and Ernie turned to see Clarinda standing by the street, holding her wand in the air. In front of her was a towering triple-decker bus that was painted a vibrant purple. It was labeled, in big gold lettering over the windshield, _The Knight Bus_.

Harry, Ron, and Ernie approached the bus and stood beside Clarinda who was practically hopping with delight. The Knight Bus exhaled a loud sigh, and the doors whipped open, and a young conductor in a pale purple uniform leapt out of the bus and began making an announcement to no one in particular.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, jump on board, we'll put you wherever you want to be. My name is Stan Shunpike, I'll be - wait a minute..." Stan Shunpike faltered as his eyes rested on Harry. "'Arry!"

"'Choo lettin' me carry on wiffat speech for?" Stan grinned, and his shoulders slacked. "Bin' too long, 'Arry. Well? In you go!"

The quartet greeted Stan and climbed onto the bus. The bus had no seats, only six brass bedsteads standing beside curtained windows. Several candles in brackets near the beds illuminated the wooden walls of the bus' interior. A frightened-looking young girl at the end of the bus caught sight of the group and hurried up the stairs to the second level.

"Where you off to, 'Arry?"

"We're all going to Grimmauld Place."

Ron and Ernie fell like ragdolls over their beds, looking up at the ceiling with relieved smiles. Clarinda was in a constant state of awe as her eyes explored the magical bus. Harry sat at the foot of his bed and nodded to the empty driver's seat.

"Where's Ernie?" he asked.

"I'm here," said Ernie from his bed behind Harry.

"No, Ernie Prang," corrected Harry.

"Snuffed it," said Stan gravely. "Deaf Eaters. You know 'ow it is. They even dun the shrunken 'ead."

"Oh." Harry cleared his throat. "I'm sorry."

"Gots a new driver 'ere now - bit of a tar-'ead, yeah - but a good bloke." Stan smiled weakly, then suddenly shouted, "OI! GET DOWN 'ERE!"

There was a rustle from the staircase, then a pair of legs came shuffling down them. Harry widened his eyes when he saw the wizard attached to them, with his short, sandy brown hair and signature grin, carrying a folded Daily Prophet newspaper.

"Oh, it's Harry and Ron!" Seamus Finnegan strolled down the aisle towards the driver's seat, greeting Harry, Ron, and Ernie along the way. "All right? Ernie?"

"Just tired." Ernie yawned feebly.

Clarinda sat up, and Seamus recoiled slightly, having just noticed her for the first time.

"What about you?" he asked.

"I'm with them." Clarinda smiled. "Clarinda Murdoch. I'm in their Auror Training Squad."

"Seamus Finnegan," said Seamus, wringing her hand. "Is that accent Australian?"

"Yes." Clarinda smirked. "I'm going to take a wild guess - Irish?"

"Oh, you're good." Seamus laughed lightly. Ron and Harry shared a mildly sickened look.

Seamus sat in the driver's seat, stopping to appraise the many unmarked dials and levers surrounding the steering wheel. He pulled a lever to his side, ripping the handle off of it and eliciting a loud _BANG_ from the back of the bus. He widened his eyes in horror and dropped the broken handle, then gripped a different lever.

"Not to worry!" he said in response to Harry's questioning look. "Where to, then?"

"Grimmauld Place," repeated Harry hesitantly. "That's in London."

"Go on, take 'er away, Sham," said Stan. He sat in an armchair next to Seamus's.

"Short for 'Shamrock,'" he explained to the passengers.

"I told you not to call me that."

With a sudden lurch, they took off at full speed, zooming through the busy streets of Muggle London. Seamus was turning the wheel wildly to avoid the oblivious Muggle pedestrians, and several formerly inanimate objects were hastily jumping out of the path of the big purple bus.

"So, Stan," said Harry, keeping a firm grip on one of his bedposts. "What happened? With the Death Eaters?"

"Righto. Long story, that." Stan sighed. "Started when I was in my favorite pub - I 'ad a few firewhiskies - this Ministry bloke accuses me o' bein' a Deaf Eater jus' 'cause I migh' 'ave mentioned havin' done a job or two -"

"You worked for Death Eaters?" Harry raised his eyebrows.

"No, only - er - some fellows 'oo didn't quite make the cut." Stan smiled apologetically.

"Oh, great, that's loads better." Harry would have crossed his arms if it didn't mean momentarily releasing his bedpost and possibly flying across the room.

"I didn't do anyfink either way," continued Stan. "Got shut up in Azkaban, 'till there was this big shakedown n' the bloke I shared my cell wiv - _ugly_ bloke, real wonky face - well, 'e ran for it n' I ran too, then it gets a bit fuzzy..."

"You were Imperiused," said Harry. "I saw you. They had you fighting for them."

"I remember, 'Arry." Stan cleared his throat. "Only I don' know what to say 'ere."

"Forget it," said Harry. "You don't owe me anything. Don't apologize."

"You off your tree, 'Arry? I was gonna thank you, you stupid idiot."

"Anyone would have done it," said Harry. He struggled not to picture the scolding he'd received from Remus Lupin for sparing Stan in the Battle Over Little Whinging.

"Anyway, 'eard about your li'l flyin' bike ride," said Stan, smirking. "Woss that like? You in trouble?"

"He got off," said Clarinda. In her respectful silence, Harry had nearly forgotten she was present. "No surprise, though, is it?"

"You always get away with stuff," said Seamus. He took a sharp turn into a very narrow alleyway and yanked a nearby lever. The bus itself began to pinch together, and everything within it distorted, becoming slender and tall. "Mind your heads!"

There was a collective sigh of relief when they reached the end of the path and the bus flattened out again. Seamus had parked in a shabby-looking square with several bits of rubbish strewn about the lawns of houses and vacant lots. One house stuck out among the crowd by its tidiness. Its lawn was clean and groomed, its windows crystal clear, and its walls free of grime; all Kreacher's handiwork. As per Ginny's request, the overgrowth of vines and weeds was left intact, still wrapping around number twelve, Grimmauld Place like a big green net.

"Here we are, Harry," said Seamus. "Just eight Sickles each."

"All right." Harry rummaged through his pocket and withdrew eight silver Sickles, then passed them to Stan. "Ron, wake up."

Clarinda prodded Ron repeatedly to no avail until Ernie stood, wiped his hand on his pant leg, then proceeded to slap Ron across the cheek. Ron sat up with a jolt, then grasped the golden bedpost quickly before he realized they'd stopped.

"_Ha!_" howled Stan.

"Eight sickles, Ron," said Ernie as he handed his own payment to Stan.

After paying, Harry, Ron, Clarinda, and Ernie bade Stan and Seamus goodbye and hopped down onto the sidewalk. Clarinda looked stunned as she observed Harry Potter's neighborhood, with its dark corners, discarded food containers, old tires, and a puddle of sweet-smelling liquid that was streaming down the street and leaking through an iron grate that led to the sewer.

"Surprised?" said Ron, spotting Clarinda's look. "This house once belonged to Harry's godfather -"

"Sirius!" swooned Clarinda. Ron and Harry shared a bizzare glance.

"Yeah, that one. It used to be headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix."

"Shame I never got to join," said Ernie as he approached the door and spotted the silver door knocker that was a dead serpent clutched in the jaws of a lion. "Excellent touch!"

"Thanks," said Harry, grinning. He tapped his wand against the door. Several clicks and taps emanated from the other side of the door, then it opened. "Sorry there are no badgers, Ernie, we sort of went for a Gryffindor theme."

"I have a Hufflepuff tapestry at my house." Ernie smiled. "Take it. I implore you."

"Whosere?" demanded a gruff voice from the living room.

With a few booming footsteps that caused the house to quake and the gas lamps on the walls to flicker, a massive bearded man hobbled into view, ducking his head to crouch under the doorway and step into the hall. His big black eyes widened when he spotted Harry and Ron.

"They're here!" Hagrid called back towards the direction of the living room.

"Hagrid!" exclaimed Harry. He approached the half-giant and embraced him in a one-armed hug. "What's up?"

"Jus' a little get-tergether," he explained. "Hermione said they were runnin' yeh ragged yer firs' day, so she's arranged fer a big meal ternight."

"Brilliant!" declared Ron. "Let's eat!"

The quartet followed Hagrid back into the living room. Crackling flames within a big marble fireplace illuminated the room, casting its cardinal wallpaper, red-and-gold Gryffindor tapestries, and bloodred armchairs in a warm light. Clarinda was swiveling on the spot, her delighted smile growing more pronounced by the second, until she stopped at the sight of Sirius's portrait.

"Are you Sirius Black?" she asked.

"Yes." Sirius's painting smiled. "Who might you be?"

"Clarinda Murdoch," said Clarinda, her voice breaking slightly as she fidgetted nervously. Harry nudged Ron and nodded toward her with an amused smirk. "I work with Harry and Ron. As an Auror-in-training. At the Ministry. Of Magic," she added.

"Oh, excellent." Sirius caught Harry's eye and winked. "Nice to meet you."

Sirius clapped his hands together. "Ah, Harry! Great news. Ginny's having her friend Dean paint me a 'friend.' A particularly good-looking 'friend.'"

"Brilliant," said Harry, as Ron sniggered.

"And who are you?" asked Clarinda.

There was a man with hair of a similar bright orange to the fire standing in the corner of the room, butterbeer in hand, peeking behind a red tapestry at the poster of a half-naked Muggle woman underneath. He turned to Clarinda with a wicked grin, and that's when Harry noticed he was was wearing the bowler hat that had previously hung on the hook by the door. Harry realized now where the hat came from; it had belonged to Mad-Eye Moody, who had used it to conceal his magical eye. George was now using it to conceal his missing ear.

"George Weasley," he said, taking Clarinda's hand and kissing her knuckles. "Pleasure."

"Yeah, yeah," said Ron. "Where's the food?"

"Charming, Ron," said a voice from behind them. They turned to see a smirking Hermione, flanked by Ginny and Hagrid. "It's on the kitchen table - er - I'll need to set two more plates, though."

"Hey, Ernie," said Ginny. Ernie nodded and smiled. "And you are..."

"I'm Clarinda," said Clarinda, wringing Ginny's hand. "I'm in their training squad. You must be Ginny!"

"Yes." Ginny smiled.

"She's a bit of a - er - fan," explained Harry. "She's read all of Rita's books."

Ginny looked alarmed.

"But I've told her they're all rubbish," continued Harry.

"You must be Hagrid!" said Clarinda, smiling brightly.

"Yeah, nice ter meet yeh," said Hagrid. Clarinda jogged over to him and grasped him in a tight hug.

"Sorry," she said, letting go. "I've just wanted to do that since I saw you."

"Well, er..." Hagrid looked stupefied. "Nothin' wrong withat. Let's go eat!"

"Oi, where's my hug?" complained George as they stepped into the kitchen and made short work of several plates of pot roast.


	9. Hangin' with Helinora

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

* * *

At the break of every clear dawn at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, the sun would beam through Ron and Hermione's window. The vermilion drapery had the effect of a Chinese lantern, tinting the entire room an eye-watering orange. Ron had suggested they remove the curtains completely until they got around to replacing them, but Hermione refused, voicing her suspicion that the glaring light was the only reason Ron bothered to get out of bed in the morning.

This was to be the last day of what Ron called 'life on the red planet.' As the young couple slumbered, the door opened gently, and in walked Kreacher. He wore a pillowcase that was pure-white except for a slash of blood across his chest; he'd just cleared out the Doxy infestation in the broom cupboard.

Kreacher lugged what appeared to be a large sack up to the window, then clenched the vermilion curtains in one of his bony fists and ripped them down. He then unraveled the sack into a thick black cloth and hopped onto the windowsill. Nearly weightless, he was able to scale the molding and attach the corners of the cloth onto the hooks above the window, then slide the new blackout curtain over it, casting the room in its dark shadow. The only remaining source of light was from Ron's glowing Mermish Starflower on the bedside table.

Still hanging from the windowsill, Kreacher glanced down at the sleeping couple. Kreacher had learned that Ron usually slept on his back, but this morning he was curled up and clinging to Hermione with his face burrowed into her chest. Kreacher dropped down to the old wooden floor, retrieved the old red curtains and hobbled through the door, mumbling to himself in his eerily deep and raspy voice.

"_Serving Mudbloods,_" he grumbled. "_Friends... Kreacher has changed. If my dear old mistress knew..._"

Kreacher exhaled a wheezy sigh.

"It is time old Kreacher told his mistress ... Nothing to lose. Kreacher's head won't hang on these walls either way._ Perhaps she can change with Kreacher..._"

_*pop*_

"Good morning, Ron." Hermione stretched her entire body, feeling her joints popping.

"_Grargh._" Ron stirred.

"Wake up." Hermione poked Ron's shoulderblade. Nothing. "Come on, Ron. I'm not your personal alarm clock!"

"_Faiminitsmynee,_" mumbled Ron.

"No, now." Hermione yanked Ron's blanket away.

"Isn't it Saturday?" Ron curled up into a tighter ball.

"Yes, but we're returning Helinora to the Centaurs today."

"Oh," yawned Ron as he turned over and extended his arms until his elbows cracked. "Why didn't you say so?"

"I did, just now." Hermione crawled off the bed, walked to her wardrobe, and began undressing.

"Did they reclaim their territory?" she asked as Ron got up and walked to his dresser as slowly as he possibly could, his eyes stuck on her. "What happened to Deralon's troop?"

"Deralon's troop?" replied Ron absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to her. He blinked and shook the sense back into his head, then continued, "Let's just say Gogara and his mates are well-fed these days. Magorian's Centaurs use the Forbidden Forest for hunting now - smart of them - they don't have to fight with the Acromantulas for land and they don't have to compete with Grawp for food."

"So the Acromantulas have taken over the forest, then?" Hermione turned to peek at Ron as he got dressed.

"You can't take over the forest," scoffed Ron. "Much worse things in there than the spiders. I saw all sorts of beasts in there. I was one of them, actually."

"Yes, you're just ferocious, aren't you?" Hermione turned around, displaying her coral-colored button-up shirt and blue jeans. Ron nodded his approval.

"I just hope they treat her right," said Ron, his expression darkening a bit. "They'd better. They owe us."

"Might be best not to say things like that when we're actually dealing with them." Hermione smirked. "I'm sure she'll be fine - and if she isn't, she can go back to the Burrow, can't she?"

"I suppose."

"You're great with her." Hermione smiled weakly, stepping into her shoes. "Very ... Fatherly."

"There's that tone of surprise again," mumbled Ron, as he tied his own shoes. "I can be a - hey! It's dark in here!"

"Kreacher must have put the new curtains up overnight." Hermione cleared her throat. "Er ... Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"What about children?" Hermione shifted on her feet. "Any preferences? Names? Quantity?"

"Don't want too many; there are going to be a lot of little Weasleys running around soon, from what Bill's told me." Ron smiled. "As for names, I don't know, really, never thought about it... I want a boy, though."

"I'll see what I can do," said Hermione, on the verge of laughter. She looked up to observe Ron's reaction, then said, "I like 'Hugo' as a male name, what do you think?"

"_Ha!_" chuckled Ron. "Like that's going to happen!"

Hermione huffed and walked out into the hallway, followed by the sniggering Ron. The hallway had no windows, and was illuminated by the dim glow of the gas lamps high on the walls, which created little orbs of light on the shiny wooden floor. Ron and his smirk followed Hermione down the stairs.

"Ron Junior," he suggested. Hermione said nothing. "Ronalda if it's a girl."

"I'm not speaking to you." Hermione reached the foot of the stairs, greeted Kreacher, and made her way to the living room.

"Dobby," suggested Ron. Hermione stopped suddenly and turned around; Ron nearly collided with her. "For the middle name, that is..."

"All right, you're forgiven." Hermione grinned. "And Hugo, it is."

"What?" Ron scoffed. "Bollocks! I'm not naming my son 'Hugo.'"

"Oh, and what are your ideas? Ronald Ronson the Ronteenth?" Hermione's arms bent and her hands found her hips; Ron's eyes widened at the sight. "Why should you get to—"

"Let's not get riled up today," said Ron quickly. "We'll talk about it later, but now we've got to think about Helinora."

"Oh, yes, you're so compassionate, aren't you?"

They walked into the living room, stepping over the slumbering George, who had replaced his bowler hat with a big silver pot. Hagrid, also asleep, was testing the durability of a sagging red couch with his massive weight while Crookshanks had curled up and fallen asleep burrowed in his beard. Harry and Ginny were sharing an armchair that faced the portrait of Sirius Black, and only noticed Ron and Hermione when Sirius waved to them from the black backdrop of his portrait, which was hung up on the cardinal-red walls beside the rarely occupied portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black.

"Morning, Sirius," said Ron. "Harry, Ginny, we're going to bring Helinora back to Magorian today."

"Hey, Ron, Hermione," said Harry. "Now that you mention it, Hagrid was saying something about that last night."

"When Clarinda let him talk, that is," said Sirius. "Bit hyperactive, that one."

"She's nice, though," said Hermione. "Besides, she'll make a good Auror, won't she? She didn't seem affected by the training at all."

"Aurors!" said Sirius, clapping his hands together. "Harry and Ron, the famous Aurors. If James were here... if James could see what his son has accomplished!"

Harry looked down with red cheeks, then busied himself by crossing the room to wake Hagrid and George. Ginny looked after him dreamily until she was broken from her trance as Ron squeezed into the armchair with her and hoisted his legs up on the table.

"When are we going?" he asked, throwing an arm around Ginny.

"When Hagrid's hangover wanes, I suspect," said Harry. "He was drunk as a lord last night. _Medicine,_ he calls it. Ha!"

"Tha's righ'," mumbled Hagrid, sitting up and rubbing his head. "Jus' fer me health, yeh know. Don' go imitatin' me."

"Ha! Right, of course," said Sirius. "Hey, Harry, do you think that instead of painting a friend for me here, your friend could simply paint another portrait for me? That way you could place me in a neighborhood of my painted brethren. Or perhaps in Madam Rosmerta's bedroom? She doesn't have to know."

"Merlin, you don't even try for subtlety," said Harry. He noticed Hermione monitoring Ron's reaction and grinned. "Good idea, though, but I'm not sure Dean can do something like that yet."

"Hagrid, don't get up," said George, lifting the silver pot off of his head and rising to his feet. "Brace yourself, mate."

Hagrid shut his eyes tightly, and George flicked his wand at the half-giant's shaggy head. A bone-chilling breeze wafted through the room, eliciting a shudder from everyone within; even Sirius shivered and hugged his chest. Crookshanks shrieked and darted out of the room. After the freezing air passed, Hagrid blinked a few times with a blank expression, then smiled.

"Feels great!" he declared. "Got ter learn that one."

"Top of the morning," said George as he plopped down in an empty armchair.

"Oh!" said Ginny. "There was something interesting in the Muggle paper today."

Ginny stood and trotted off towards the kitchen and returned with the Muggle newspaper. George and Hagrid huddled around her armchair as she read aloud.

"Champion boxer Dudley Dursley made headlines today after a disqualification in his recent title bout. On the verge of another victory, the nineteen-year-old prodigy was disqualified when a pizza was delivered to him in the ring during the seventh round. Sources report it was a medium-size pepperoni."

Ron snatched the paper from her, staring in disbelief, as Sirius's howling laughter sounded from his portrait. Hagrid and Hermione were giggling, and George looked impressed. Ron examined the paper to find a large photograph of Dudley, big, round, and muscular, attempting to hold a slice of pizza with his hand in a big puffy boxing glove.

"He's got style," said George. "Anyway, I should be getting out of your hair."

"Wait, we're seeing Helinora to the forest today," said Ron. "Don't you want to be there?"

"What?" George's eyes widened. "Shit. I've told ... _Tseng_ or whatever ... that I'd meet her today. A'course, that's assuming she understood..."

"Don't suppose you could send her a Patronus?" suggested Harry. "Or will the other Muggles see?"

"Nah." George shrugged and looked around for his bowler hat. "Anyone mind if I take Mad Eye's hat?"

"It's yours," said Harry. "You could send a Patronus to the shop and Lee could tell her, or pantomime... Whatever gets the message across."

"Don't worry about it. Lee will take care of it." George slipped the hat over his head, tipped it down to cover the hole where his ear used to be, and made for the door. "Come on, we've got a centaur to transport."

* * *

It was an average summer morning in the village of Hogsmeade; the dirt streets were busy, the shops were lively, and there was an abundance of magical activity. As usual, there was not a Muggle in sight in the last remaining Wizarding village in England. There were clouds of scented haze rising from the chimney of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, owls fluttering around the Owl Post office, and the groaning call of goats from behind the Hog's Head pub. The Shrieking Shack stood off in the distance, perhaps never to shriek again.

Several of the residents and visitors of Hogsmeade were pointing, staring, and craning their heads to see a peculiar sight: Two animals in a footrace down the main road, darting through the parting crowd at high speed. One was a Centaur, with the lower body of a horse and upper body of a ten-year-old girl, her long cinnamon-colored hair and tail flowing as she ran. The other was a hyena, with lead-black claws, a hunched back, and one mouselike ear.

The two racers were followed loosely by five jogging humans: Harry, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Hagrid. Several shop owners had stepped out onto their porches to observe the commotion; Ron offered Madam Rosmerta a sly wink as he passed by. The hyena and centaur were neck-and-neck until the end of the road, where the path was blocked by a short wooden fence. While Helinora leapt gracefully and cleared the fence with little effort, George tripped up and faceplanted into the dirt.

"I win," said Helinora, giggling.

"Fine." George arose in human form whence he had fallen, rubbing dirt off of his cheek. "Next time we race on ice."

"No chance." Helinora stuck her chin up and turned around, walking down a small path of patted-down grass. "It's down here, isn't it?"

"Yeah," breathed Hagrid, having just caught up to them. "Righ' down here. Grawpy's goin' ter be so happy! Don' have company too often, yeh know, 'sept fer Buckbeak n' Scorpagog."

"Maybe you could get another giant—" began Ron before being elbowed in the ribs by Ginny. "Agh!"

"Oh, no," said Hagrid. "Can' do that. McGonagall's bin' nice enough ter give Scorpy a chance. Prolly knows Dumbledore woulda. I'm not gonna take advantage o' that."

"Grawp, Buckbeak, and Scorpagog," said Harry. "What a team. Poor Hogsmeade..."

"He ain't hurtin' nobody," growled Hagrid. "None o' them are. They migh' scare a few people now and again, but it's all good fun."

"They're just _high-spirited_ is all," said George. Hagrid nodded. "And highly venomous."

"Jus' Scorpy." Hagrid turned onto another path of flattened brush that was cluttered by several uprooted trees. "Jus' down here."

Once they reached the mountains, Hagrid led them into a cave that was once used as a hideout by Sirius Black. There was a crooked plank of wood wedged into a crack above the cave entrance that read _Grawp._ There were several groans of revulsion as they entered the cave and immediately spotted a half cow carcass hanging from the near wall.

The cave was lit by a small campfire in the corner of the room, which left black soot marks on the stone floor. There was a stream running through the cave that occasionally splashed water onto the rug in the center of the room, upon which a colossal figure rested, shifting slowly as it breathed. Hagrid approached the massive mound and batted it with one of his dustbin lid-sized hands, eliciting a throaty groan that quaked the entire cave.

"Get up, Grawpy!" sang Hagrid jovially. "Yer friends're here ter see yeh!"

"_Gragh,_" mumbled the giant Grawp. Hermione sniggered at his similarity to Ron.

"Get _UP!_" Hagrid wacked one of Grawp's ears.

Grawp sat up. He looked like a massive infant, soft and plump with a disproportionately large head. He spotted Hagrid and smiled, revealing wax-colored half brick-sized teeth, one of which was missing. He stood, just barely short enough to stand straight in the cave, and that's when Harry noticed several broken stalactites on the cave's ceiling.

"HERMY," said Grawp. "HAR-RY!"

"Morning, Grawp," said Harry cheerfully, though he maintained as much distance as possible. George and Helinora were staring in awe. "How are you?"

"WELL," replied Grawp, shuffling over to the wall to retrieve the cow carcass. "BRICK-FIST?"

"No thanks," said Ron quickly, grimacing.

"YOU, SENTER," said Grawp matter-of-factly, pointing one huge finger at Helinora. "PLAY NICE."

"She's nice!" urged Hagrid. "Don' worry, Grawpy. Say, where's Scorpy?"

"GOG? GOG?" Grawp stomped out of his cave, barely squeezing through the exit, and looked around. "GOG SWIM."

"Odd," said George. "You'd think he wouldn't like water. I thought scorpions lived in the desert."

"He jus' likes ter get a bit wet," explained Hagrid. "He can' swim. Go on, let's go, it's on the way ter the centaur camp anyway."

Grawp and Hagrid led the way through the forest beside the stream that ran through the cave, creating a path of crushed branches and flattened bushes for the humans and Centaur. Grawp had a habit of punching trees in half for no apparent reason other than amusement, which slowed them down a bit. After a short distance, the stream widened into a small pond, where a large black figure could be seen shifting underwater.

After Hagrid splashed the water once as a signal, the figure emerged from the pond, a massive scorpion with a burnt-looking brown exoskeleton and beady black eyes. It crawled onto the shore, water seeping from its jagged joints, and shook itself dry.

"All right, Scorpagog?" said Ron, flinching at the sight of him.

"All righ'," said Scorpagog as he approached the group. His pincers rattled when he spoke. "What's goin' on? What're yeh doin' with that centaur?"

"My name's Helinora," she said. "Nice to meet you."

"What sort a' trickery is this?" growled the scorpion.

"No tricks! We're reuniting her with the centaurs here," explained Harry. "Where do they live, anyway, Hagrid?"

"Righ' 'round here, actually," said Hagrid. "Jus' hope they don' mind us bein' here."

"Are they nice?" asked Helinora, glancing at Hagrid. Ron brushed her shoulder soothingly.

"NO!" said Grawp.

"Nicer'n Deralon's group," reasoned Hagrid.

"Right, well, where could they be?" asked Ginny, looking around.

"What on _earth_ is going on here?" demanded a voice from behind them. They turned to find three centaurs standing in a united front betwixt the trees. The one in the middle spoke again. "Is it not bad enough that we should have to consort with werewolves? And now, giants and scorpions?"

"DON'T!" growled Grawp, balling his hands into fists.

"Calm down!" urged Hagrid. "Can' we jus' be peaceful here, Magorian?"

Magorian said nothing; it was the centaur to his right who spoke, in a calming, doleful tone. "Harry Potter... There have been many moons since our last meeting."

"You aren't kidding," mumbled Ron as Harry smiled unsurely.

"This is the young centaur?" asked the soft-spoken centaur.

"I'm Helinora," she said, staring at the ground.

"I am Ronan. Come now. We care for our own."

Helinora glanced at Ron unsurely. Ron kneeled down and swept her into a tight hug, patting her back lightly. The croons of Hermione and Ginny combatted the centaurs' groans of disgust.

"Say your goodbyes, Helinora," said Magorian. "We'll be at the camp at the end of this trail. Do not bring the humans."

"So how's Mars doing?" called George to Magorian's back as the three centaurs turned and left, ignoring him.

"There are no signs of a disturbance," answered Helinora. She looked confused when the group began to snigger. "What is it?"

"Nothing." George grinned. "Where's my hug? What, was I just a flatmate to you?"

"Of course not." Helinora galloped over to George and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Love you," said George, grinning. She smiled in return. "Take care."

"If there are any problems, go right to Hagrid's, okay?" said Ron. Helinora nodded.

Helinora bade the group goodbye and trotted off into the depths of Grawp's forest, leaving the group to stand at the shore of the pond, smiling wistfully.

"The nerve," said Scorpagog once she'd left earshot. "Ruddy centaurs. Some o' them jus' don' change, do they?"

"Ronan may have," said Hermione as they began their trek back to Hogsmeade. Scorpagog and Grawp branched off in the direction of Grawp's cave. "Let's just hope he becomes chief. Once the House Elves are sorted, we absolutely _must_ get started on improving relations with the centaurs and merpeople. No Minister has given it a second effort in years. That fountain at the Ministry could be realistic one day, after all."

"Oh!" said Hagrid. "Nearly forgot ter tell yeh! There's bin' a movement 'round the Hogwarts kitchens, House Elves demandin' their rights. Yeh know, some o' the House Elves there got cruel owners, n' tha's no good, accordin' ter Winky."

"What?" Hermione's eyes widened. "Winky?"

"Yeah. She jus' ain' the same since Dobby died." Hagrid shook his head. "Sobered up, too. Now, she still thinks it's righ' barmy ter free the House Elves like yeh've bin' tryin' ter do, but she's bin' on about rights fer the House-Elves that have bin' freed."

"I'll have to arrange a meeting with her," said Hermione, grinning.

"Later," said Ron. His stomach grumbled loudly. "I'm hungry."

"Three Broomsticks?" suggested Harry. "They serve food, don't they?"

"If you can call that food," said George. "Fred ate there once and _I_ got sick."

"'Fraid I can' come," said Hagrid. "Got ter get back to work. Filch'll be wantin' me help handlin' that mess those Hufflepuff kids made n' the paved courtyard."

The group bade Hagrid goodbye as he continued down the main road, past the Three Broomsticks and up the path that led to Hogwarts castle. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and George entered the Three Broomsticks through its saloon-style double doors.

The Three Broomsticks was a welcoming place. There were tables scattered about in no particular pattern and cushy booths lining the white walls, and a long wooden bar with a big mirror behind it and shelves of unmarked bottles. Madam Rosmerta was tending to the throng of customers, assisted by a black-haired Asian witch in royal blue robes.

"Cho!" said George. "How's things?"

"Oh, hello, George," said Cho distractedly as she bussed a tray of dirty dishes behind the counter. "I'm a bit busy, sorry."

"Take your time." George followed Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny to a booth in the corner.

"Oh, would you stop scowling at her?" said Harry, nudging Ginny's elbow. "You have no reason to be upset."

"I can't help it." Ginny crossed her arms. Ron and Hermione shared a grin.

"If it makes you feel any better, she isn't _that_ much prettier than you," said George, who immediately regretted sitting on Ginny's side of the booth as she slugged him in the shoulder. "Merlin, sis, you don't know your own strength. I'm too delicate for that."

Cho walked up beside them as George rubbed his shoulder dramatically.

"Hey, guys," she said. "What'll it be?"

"Butterbeers all around," said George. "And a few plates of your least disgusting chips, please."

"They're not that bad," said Cho. She glanced over her shoulder, then leaned in, and said, "Not since I've started making them. Can't imagine what's going to happen to the customers' stomachs once I've gone."

"So you're not staying?" asked Hermione.

"No, I'm studying under Professor Longbottom." Cho frowned. "I've told you. I'm planning to teach Transfiguration."

"Neville says his Gran doesn't mind staying at Hogwarts now that he's moved out," said George. "Amazing, that woman. A real no-nonsense gal."

"Oh, I've got to get moving," said Cho, glancing around at the other tables. "Is that all? Just the Butterbeer and chips?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Thanks."

"Think you might need to cool Ginny off, George," said Ron, smirking. "She's looking a bit red."

"Shut up." Ginny huffed. "Did I tease you at the Quidditch world cup?"

"Yes!" growled Ron. "You called me a growling ape!"

"To be fair, you did sort of growl at Krum," said Harry.

"George, didn't you have to meet that girl?" said Ron, swiftly changing the subject. "You could still catch her if you hurry, yeah? What was her name? Sing?"

"Tseng Yue," corrected George, standing up suddenly. "I'm not sure which one is the surname, so I just say the full thing. I'd best be off, then. Cheers."

"_Honestly,_" said Hermione, narrowing her eyes.

"I know," said Ginny distractedly, glaring off into the crowd of customers. "She's so arrogant."

"I meant George," said Hermione, smirking.

"I hope Helinora's okay," said Ron, as Cho came by and delivered the food and drinks. "Magorian still seems like a human-hating git."

"Should be fine," said Harry.

"They only hate us because they're afraid of us," said Hermione. "Humans have done the same thing to House Elves. Whether they like us or not, they know not to cross us. Not with Grawp in such close proximity."

"And you said keeping Grawp here was a bad idea," said Harry with a smirk. He raised his mug of butterbeer, then said, "To Grawp!"


	10. The Butterbeer Baron

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

* * *

Four young students in black-and-yellow robes strolled through the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry towards the Great Hall carrying a large green duffel bag. The sunlight was so bright that the front gate at the end of the Entrance Hall looked like a vast and heavenly wall of light. The quartet of second-year Hufflepuff students greeted the Fat Friar, Hufflepuff's House ghost, and received a scowl; After the Bandits led Hufflepuff house to its lowest point total in Hogwarts history in their first year, they became the favorite students of the victorious Nearly Headless Nick, and the least favorite of their own ghost, the Fat Friar.

"Don't worry, we'll help Hufflepuff win the House Cup this year," promised Roque. The overweight ghost rolled his eyes and disappeared through a wall.

The Bandits yielded as the ghosts of the Headless Hunt charged through the corridor and into the Great Hall. Three commemorative figurines stood adjacent to the entrance to the Great Hall of Hogwarts, carved from sparkling mineral that shimmered in the light of the high windows of the corridor. They were placed on a plinth in front of a life-size statue of a chubby kind-looking warlock.

At the center was Harry Potter, raising his Firebolt broomstick in triumph while clutching his Invisibility Cloak with the other hand. To his right, the statue of Ron Weasley stood a bit taller, wielding the Sword of Gryffindor with one hand and the Deluminator with the other. On the left side of the Harry Potter statue was that of Hermione Granger, standing straight with a determined look and clutching a book to her chest.

"Maybe we should write to them," said Roque. "Think of what we could do with that cloak."

"Doubt we'll be able to borrow it," said Elena. "We've only got the map because George was the one to give it to Harry."

"Still." Roque smiled wistfully. "Anyway, let's go. Any sign of Filch, Munky?"

"The Grand Staircase is clear," said the tall and bony Munky. "Filch is in his office with that poor sod Timmy Yolk. Never was very stealthy, that Timmy..."

"Hey, Timmy's really nice!" said Elena. "And shouldn't we treat him with respect? He's done something to anger Filch!"

"I think you're in love, Elena," said Blackboot. Elena scoffed. "_Love is like candy on a shelf_..._"_

"Silence," said Roque. "Your horrible singing is matched only by your ridiculous hair."

"Hey, ouch," said Blackboot, placing a hand over his heart. "At least I couldn't balance a goblet of pumpkin juice on mine."

"It's aerodynamic," argued Roque. "Hold on, let me check my desk."

Roque peeked his head into a familiar classroom and spotted a Gryffindor girl with blonde hair struggling to pry herself from the desk upon which she sat. Next to her was an alarmed Slytherin seventh-year who yelped once he spotted the young Bandit leader.

"Honestly, Robins, a Slytherin?" said Roque. "You're stuck for six hours. Stay off my desk. _Foolish girl._"

"Free her," demanded the Slytherin, drawing his wand. "I'm a prefect!"

There was a pause, then the Bandits burst into laughter and exited the classroom.

They made their way up the shifting Grand Staircase, stopping several times when the stairs decided to move in the wrong direction. There were so many portraits of varying shapes and sizes that the gray stone walls of the room were barely visible behind them. Within the portraits, several historically significant wizards, witches, goblins, trolls, and events were coexisting, connected in one big painted universe.

As they passed the third floor, they spotted a painting of a roundtable in the bowels of a dingy wooden pirate ship. Seven people were playing cards on a battered table. At the center was a warlock with a long black beard, a milky brown pipe that puffed gray smoke, and an eyepatch. Roque knew him to be the resident of the portrait.

Beside him was a tall wizard in purple robes. He had long white hair and beard, a crooked nose, and a twinkle in his bright blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles. He offered the four Hufflepuff second-years a serene smile and a small wave before taking a sip from his pewter goblet. His drink caused steam to billow from his ears as he smiled in delight.

On the other side of the cycloptic pirate sat a teenage wizard with shiny copper-colored hair and a wicked grin. He acknowledged the bandits with a nod, then spotted the green duffel bag and winked to them, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Roque had always thought of him as a two-eared George, but knew him to be George's deceased twin brother, Fred Weasley.

Sitting next to Fred was a young boy with mousy light brown hair and a big clunky old-fashioned camera strapped around his neck, who wasn't very good at hiding his excitement over the cards he was dealt. He'd nearly tipped his mug of butterbeer over with glee.

Sitting across from the mousy-haired boy, on the other side of the table, a man in a slightly shabby-looking steel-blue suit was observing his jollity with a wistful smile. He had short graying brown hair and a bit of chin stubble. Beside him was a younger girl with bright bubblegum-pink hair and a gleeful smile under the nose of a pig, which then transformed into a bird's beak.

"Oi!" barked Fred. "You can't go metamorphagasizing, that's cheating!"

"I just have a good poker face," said Tonks.

"It's not the nose that gives a person away," said Dumbledore calmly. "Just look at Colin."

"What? Me?" Colin gulped. "I've nothing to give away."

"Oh, no, you're straight as a Snorkack, you are," said Fred. He placed his cards face-down on the table. "I fold."

"Fold?" asked Dumbledore. "I thought we were playing Go Fish?"

"Bunch of nutters," mumbled Munky as he and his fellow Bandits moved on to the fourth floor.

On a ledge that led to the bathroom, a mirror was placed on the wall under a portrait of a man slumbering on a pile of emptied bottles of mead while his little brown dog drank the remaining booze from his fallen goblet. According to the Marauder's Map, the secret passageway behind the mirror could only be opened by tapping a Ravenclaw badge to the center of the glass and whispering a specific incantation.

"Got the badge?" asked Roque, looking to Blackboot.

"Yeah," said Blackboot. He withdrew a blue badge with an eagle crest from his pocket and handed it to Roque.

"Whose is it?" asked Elena.

"Timmy's," said Roque.

"That must be why he was talking to Filch," said Munky.

"And you wanted to show him respect," said Blackboot, nodding to Elena with a smirk.

"Silly girl," said Roque as he tapped the Ravenclaw badge to the mirror and said, "_Ostium Revelio._"

The four Hufflepuffs witnessed their reflections fade as the glass of the mirror disappeared, revealing a steep downward staircase that was lit by seemingly endless rows of torches on its narrow walls. The Bandits began their descent down the long path, occasionally checking their location on the Marauder's map. This path appeared to take them through the hills to the east, similar to the Whomping Willow passageway, curving around the Great Lake and leading directly to the hut behind Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.

"This must be where it's caved in," said Elena, her voice echoing through the long tunnel.

They'd made it halfway to Hogsmeade when the small tunnel widened into a room large enough for a small organization to use as the venue for a meeting. It was blocked by a large clutter of debris from the ceiling above; The Bandits wondered aloud if Fred and George had been the ones to cause the mess.

"All right," said Roque. "We're going to place Decoy Detonators right here to the left - it's a key structural point, by the looks of it - then we're going to set one Detonator off and set it to walk into the others while we retreat back up the tunnel."

"Got it." Blackboot placed the green duffel bag beside the wall of stone and wood and began carefully extracting the little bombs, placing them against the wall of rubble.

"We should learn the Locomotor Charm if we're going to smuggle Butterbeer up those stairs," said Munky. "Because I know you guys will try to make me do it."

"Try?" Roque smirked.

"All set," said Blackboot.

They filed back into the long tunnel whence they came, leaving Blackboot to crank the metallic winder on the back of the last Decoy Detonator. Its yellow ducklike legs began waddling in mid-air before Blackboot set it on the ground, pointing it towards the pile of little bombs. Immediately after placing it, he turned and sprinted back towards the tunnel, chasing after his fleeing friends. They'd made it about twenty yards before booming thump quaked the ground beneath their feet and caused embers to shoot from the torches that lined the walls.

They stumbled over, becoming enveloped in a thin cloud of dust that wafted through the tunnel. Elena waved her wand in the air, creating a small gust of wind that helped to clear the fog. As they stood and brushed themselves off, Blackboot nodded to her.

"Nice one," he said. "Looks like doing your homework actually paid off."

Elena smiled and hid her blush by turning and walking towards the site of the detonation. When they reached it, they saw sunlight slanting down from above as a hole had been blown through the ceiling. They trudged over a barren surface of crumbled rock and shattered wood, occasionally blasting obstructing bits away with their unrefined Reductor curses. Elena whimpered at the sight of an old, dried horse skeleton that lay scattered in a previously blocked corner.

At the other end of the room, the path narrowed again into another stone tunnel lit only by the dim golden glow of the long rows of torches on its gray walls. Their path swerved loosely to the right as it reached Hogsmeade, passed below the Three Broomsticks and ended at a big double staircase that led to the hut behind Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.

"_Can you dance like a Hippogriff?_" sang Blackboot as the Bandits climbed the steps, panting a bit from the long journey. "_Na na na, na na na, na na na!_"

Roque made a mental note to learn how to execute a Silencing Charm as they reached the door to Hogsmeade and attempted to open it. The door wouldn't budge, even for Munky's strength.

"Drat, it's locked," said Roque, angrily tugging on the handle. "Insolent door!"

"Oh, of course it's locked," said Elena. "_Alohomora!_"

The heavy iron lock sprang open and fell to the ground with a clunk, and Roque grasped the door handle and pushed the door open. The Bandits recoiled at what was waiting for them on the other side: the wild beady eyes of Mr. Filch, the caretaker of Hogwarts, who had a disturbingly delighted grin. Flanking him were Mrs. Norris, his feline sentinel, and a tiny Slytherin second-year with a blonde bowl-cut and thick glasses.

"My, my," said Filch, growing more joyed by the second. "We are in trouble, aren't we?"

"You!" growled Roque, glaring down at the minute Sean Albright. "You little - argh, you _little_ -"

"That's enough," hissed Filch. "Follow me, lads. Wonder if she'll let me get me thumbscrews, _eheh..._"

Defeated, the four doomed Hufflepuffs took their last dread march back up towards the castle, cursing Filch's puny watchdog and silently vowing their revenge.

After the Bandits had followed Filch to the end of the main road of Hogsmeade, they were unable to spot a pair of eyes observing them from within the hut at the end of the secret path that was to be named the Bandits' Mirror passageway. The door of the hut eased open to reveal a triumphantly grinning Gryffindor second-year boy, who had milky brown skin, a gaunt face with puffy cheeks, and a short afro.

Conrad Castle exited the hut and stalked past Scrivenshaft's, carrying the green duffel bag the Bandits had left behind, and making his way to the Hog's Head pub, where one could stock up on Butterbeer with no questions asked.

* * *

The kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, usually immaculate by Kreacher's expert hands, was currently being gutted as two young men searched desperately for a remedy to their growling stomachs. Cupboards were being emptied as a tall ginger-haired boy tossed Hermione's stale sugar-free snacks aside to find his stash of Chocolate Frogs. Similarly, the redhead's bespectacled friend was removing bags of rice, dry noodles, and other ingredients with which he had no idea what to do.

"Where is it?" asked Harry. "I can't find anything."

"It was right here!" replied Ron. "Unless..."

"She found it?" Harry and Ron whipped their heads around to look at Hermione in the living room.

She was sitting cross-legged in a bloodred armchair and perusing Rita's sixth and latest semi-fiction novel, titled _Harry Potter and the Fascination with the Dark Arts_, while conversing with the portrait of Sirius Black on the opposite wall, perhaps discussing the book. She glanced at them with an innocent expression for a moment before returning to the book. Harry narrowed his eyes while Ron did a sort of tooth-grinding pout.

"She's raided the cupboards," said Ron. "I know it. She must have done away with the Chocolate Frogs. All because her parents are 'dentists.'"

"More like 'mentists,'" he added.

"Mentists?" asked Harry.

"They're completely mental," explained Ron. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Don't Wizards have ways of cleaning their teeth?" wondered Harry. "Surely we can deal with a bit of plaque."

"Yeah. Not sure what 'plaque' is but there's a potion that fixes your teeth right up." Ron began returning food to the cupboards. "A'course, it won't help poor wankers like Marcus_ The Darkness_ and Merlin. They're much too far gone."

"Come to think of it, they do look surprisingly similar." Harry widened his eyes. "D'you reckon Flint is a direct descendant?"

"He is a Pureblood, actually," said Ron. "Though that doesn't mean much these days. We're all probably half-bloods anyway."

"Eager to get rid of that Pureblood status, yeah?" Harry grinned, retrieving a sugar-free biscuit from a box that hadn't been touched since they'd moved in; there was a thin layer of dust coating the lid. "Did you ever notice our little trio is made up of the three different blood types?"

"Yeah, you're right!" Ron nodded thoughtfully. "And we have the three different wand cores, don't we?"

"And eye colors."

"And hair colors."

"There are more than three main hair colors though," argued Harry.

"Don't be a downer." Ron grinned. "Hey, pass me one of those. Can't be worse than the Shrieking Shack's furniture, can they?"

Hermione observed their conversation carefully, then reached into her black beaded bag and withdrew a pentagonal blue box. She covertly took the wiggling chocolate frog from the box and popped it into her mouth before returning to her book and disposing of the evidence with a Banishing Charm. Sirius watched in amusement as Harry and Ron stepped into the room with matching grimaces as they attempted to keep the stale biscuits from coming back up.

"Hermione, we need a proper dinner," said Ron. "Since you've gotten rid of everything edible in the house."

Hermione nodded, still chewing the very edible Chocolate Frog. She gulped it down, then said, "The Leaky, then?"

"Ever tried the pea soup?" asked Sirius. "You've got to eat it before it -"

"Eats you," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "So I've heard. We have to wait for Ginny before we go, though."

Harry and Ron plopped down together on the couch and propped their feet up on the coffee table. They waited for a few minutes with frequent glances towards the hall for any sign of Ginny. Every once in a while, Phineas would pop his head in, looking for entertainment, only to leave once he'd been spotted. After a while, Hermione glanced up from her book, fixing Ron with an appraising look.

"How far did you go with Lavender?" she asked. Ron sputtered and coughed loudly.

"What?" he asked, his eyes wide. Sirius sniggered from his portrait. "Just snogging. Why?"

"Well according to Rita you'd mentally scarred Colin and Dennis when they took a wrong turn down the Charms corridor."

"Nah," said Ron. "Just kissing. Never saw under her robes or anything like that."

"Good." Hermione turned a page in her book.

"Wait a tick!" said Harry. "That did happen, but it was Michael and Cho. Colin told me about it."

"Perhaps Rita's source of information has been cut off," said Hermione. "Not that it was ever very accurate."

"It has," said Ron. "Don't ask how I know - werewolf secret, you know - but Hermione, you should tell her the real story for her next book and make sure she doesn't muck it up."

"Why me?" Hermione frowned. "Why should I be made to deal with that shrew?"

"Because you scare the wits out of that woman," said Ron adoringly. Hermione smirked.

"Not much of an accomplishment," she replied.

There was a series of clicks from the hall as the big battered front door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place undid its many locks. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood and jogged into the foyer. The door opened to reveal the crimson hair and brown eyes of Ginny Weasley, clad in a full Holyhead Harpies Quidditch uniform. Hermione shrieked in excitement and Harry ran to sweep Ginny into a spinning hug, while Ron beamed proudly and patted his sister on the shoulder once Harry had set her down.

"You did it, Gin!" said Ron. "I knew you would."

"Well done!" added Hermione. Harry simply stared.

It wasn't until Ginny looked Harry in the eye with a wide smile that he attacked. He wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed her into himself, drawing her lips into his. Ron begrudgingly looked away as Ginny responded happily. The snogging couple spiraled through the hall, nearly tripping over the umbrella stand that was crafted from a hollowed troll leg. Hermione observed the increasingly agitated Ron, on the verge of laughter, until he finally stepped in and pried his best friend and sister apart.

"All right, clear off," growled Ron. "We were just going down to the Leaky Cauldron, Ginny. Let's go celebrate."

"All right." Ginny skipped upstairs to change out of her Quidditch gear. Harry made a movement to follow her, but faltered once he'd caught Ron's narrowed eyes.

* * *

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny pushed through the door to the Leaky Cauldron and entered the dark and grubby pub. The air was fogged with a haze of blue and gray smoke, chiefly due to a group of elderly witches sitting at a booth in the corner puffing their long pipes and sipping from cups of sherry. Dedalus Diggle was visible under his purple tall top-hat by the bar as he discussed something with Tom, the bald and toothless bartender. Harry recognized the Hufflepuff Hannah Abbot as she moved from table to table, tending to the customers.

Harry nodded to the crowd as they gave him his usual reception in the form of double-takes, stares, and gasps. Several of Harry's fans saluted him and raised their glasses to him, as his companions grinned at his embarrassment. Ron quickly made his way to the bar to order food and butterbeer as Harry, Ginny, and Hermione sat at one of the many booths lining the bar's white walls.

"Look," said Ginny, pointing to a small wooden wireless that was stuck to the wall beside the table. "Wonder if we can get Potterwatch on this."

"Let's see..." Hermione began tinkering with the knobs and dials, leaning in to listen for a signal.

Just as Ron returned and sat down beside Hermione, they were approached by two of their old classmates and fellow Gryffindors: the tall and thin Dean Thomas, and the sandy blonde-haired, incessantly smiling Lavender Brown. The group greeted their old friends warmly; Hermione's instinctive reaction to Lavender's presence was to grab Ron around his shoulders and hold him tightly, as if afraid he'd wander off.

"Mind if we sit?" said Dean.

"Not at all," said Harry.

Dean winked and sat on Harry and Ginny's side, leaving Ron sandwiched between Lavender and Hermione. Dean, Ginny, and Harry exchanged wicked grins as Ron cleared his throat and stared at the table. Lavender smiled at his awkwardness.

"Any news?" said Lavender. "How is everything?"

"I've just joined the Holyhead Harpies," said Ginny. "Chaser."

"Excellent!" exclaimed Dean. Lavender squealed as well. "Good job!"

"Oh, it was nothing," said Ginny. "Hogwarts prepared me quite well for it."

"Was it difficult?" said Dean. "They've got a great team this year, don't they?"

"They're all right," said Ron. "They're no Cannons, but..."

Ron's sentence was drowned by a round of chuckling.

"You could take the championship in your rookie year," said Harry. "And become the captain."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," said Ginny. Harry ignored her and began humming _Weasley is our King_.

"How's Auror training?" said Dean. Harry and Ron sighed. "That bad, huh?"

"Brutal," explained Ron. "They've got us doing all sorts of different stuff. Potions, Cursebreaking, dueling, and no rests."

"Kills the legs," added Harry. "We're not doing that many drills anymore, though. We're covering Stealth and Tracking right now. Ernie's a real ace."

"Ah, so Ernie's there?"

"Yeah, he's in our squad. It's me, Harry, Ernie, and a girl - Clarinda - she's shit at stealth, though, because she's got too much energy to be patient, but she's still passing."

"Wicked." Dean grinned. "She fit?"

"_Honestly,_" said Hermione as Dean attempted to look innocent. "And watch your language, Ron."

"Auror training sounds a bit fun," said Lavender. "You didn't think it was going to be easy, did you?"

"It's a tough job, yeah," said Ron. "But I'm a tough bloke."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Lavender's excessive giggle and began fiddling with the wooden wireless again. Hannah arrived with their food, and placed a large basket of tortilla chips and salsa at the center of the table, which Ron immediately started on.

"That's from Dedalus," said Hannah. Harry stood and craned his neck to search the crowded pub for Dedalus's purple tophat.

"Come eat with us!" he called to Dedalus after spotting him by the door, retrieving his cloak from a rack near the exit.

"I'm afraid I can't, Harry," he replied, barely audible over the pub's chaotic chatter. "Enjoy the food, Harry! Safe travels!"

"Safe travels?" repeated Ginny.

"Leave him alone," said Ron, chomping the chips with a grateful smile. "He's a good man."

"So how's the - er - modeling, was it?" said Harry.

"Just fine," said Lavender.

"That reminds me, the painting's almost done," mentioned Dean, helping himself to the chips. "I'll have it to you within the week, probably."

"Lavender didn't pose for it, did she?" said Ron through a mouthful of beef, before taking a swig of butterbeer. "Didn't you say you were going to 'strike while the iron's hot?'"

"Yeah, right," said Lavender as Dean cleared his throat and pretended not to hear. "Because Hermione would let you hang a portrait of me in your living room."

Hermione sniggered at this, and said, "It'd be better than the posters he chose."

"What were they?" asked Lavender, leaning past Ron to listen.

"Half-naked Muggle women," replied Hermione, smirking.

"No way!" Lavender raised her eyebrows. "That's just like Ron, isn't it?"

"Er..." Ron gulped.

"Yes," said Hermione. "Then, of course, he tried to pin it on Harry."

"Ha!" Lavender nudged Ron's elbow. "That flying idea was yours too, wasn't it?"

"We both wanted to," mumbled Ron.

"Do you know how he got McGonagall to pay the House-Elves?" asked Hermione.

"No. How?"

"Uh oh," said Dean to Harry and Ginny. "You can't let your girlfriend and your ex-girlfriend form an alliance. That's just no good for any bloke."

Ron quickly turned a switch on the wireless so that the voice of Lee Jordan interrupted the conversation. Lee was in the middle of a report.

"Found alive, but shaken, in a cave that once belonged to the late Gragluk the Goblin, who was believed to be his captor. Ludo Bagman has now been admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries and is expected to make a complete, if slow, recovery."

The group around the table shared alerted looks. Hermione cranked the volume up.

"Speaking of Goblins, ladies and gentlemen, a medium-security vault at Gringotts Wizard Bank was breached this afternoon. The vault, belonging to the Moja family of Budleigh Babberton, was raided by an unknown thief, though Gringotts officials insist nothing was taken."

"The Moja family," said Hermione. "That name is familiar."

"Never heard of it," said Ron.

"Listeners should note that Gringotts has only experienced two breaches of security in the past: The first was by Quirinus Quirrell, once a professor at Hogwarts who's now dead. Quirrell was capable of extraordinary Dark magic, possibly because of a bond he shared with Voldemort. The second, and the only successful robbery of a Gringotts vault, was by the famed Golden Trio just two years ago in their quest to defeat the Dark Lord. Thus, it is likely that this break-in was perpetrated by a particularly skilled sorcerer.

"That's Potterwatch, ladies and gentlemen, live from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. We'll be taking a short break so I can re-stock the shelves and maybe enjoy a meat bun. This is your host, River, and I'll leave you to enjoy the soothing sounds of the Weird Sisters. Potterwatch news-time: 9:18."

* * *

"You're amazing, you know that?" said Harry, guiding Ginny into their room. Kreacher was cleaning the windows on the far wall. "I told you to take the night off, Kreacher."

"Oh, yes, Master Harry, thank you," said Kreacher, before promptly vanishing with a _*pop*_

"Just amazing," continued Harry. "Chaser for the Harpies. Now you'll be on your own wall."

"Our own wall," corrected Ginny, sitting beside Harry on their bed.

"I'll have to get one for my cubicle at the Auror office as well," said Harry, leaning in closer.

"Shame they don't make posters of famous Aurors," said Ginny. "They should."

"I'll pose for a calendar." Harry grinned and pressed his lips to hers.

"Ginny?" said Harry after a few minutes of increasingly heavy snogging.

"Yes, Harry?" asked Ginny, grinning.

"Don't suppose you'd want to, you know..." Harry waggled his eyebrows. "Go farther tonight."

"I thought you'd never ask," replied Ginny.

She gave Harry a few moments to place his spectacles on the bedside table before tackling him onto the bed. Through their passionate wrestling, as they kissed each other thoroughly and ripped each others clothing off, Harry mainly remembered the scent of her hair as she dug her forehead into his chest. His heartbeat raced with nervousness as he carefully tested every movement before committing. He guiltily considered stopping when he heard Ron fall over upstairs and swear loudly.

Instead, Harry took this time to execute a Muffliato, with a Silencing Charm for good measure. He also stopped to employ George's Contraceptive Charm, which Neville had passed on to him. Eventually, Ginny grew impatient and took over, and, as their bare bodies met, everything else suddenly seemed unimportant to him.

After they tired out and stopped to rest, Harry observed Ginny's peacefully slumbering form and smiled, finally feeling the full weight of the situation. Harry had been reluctant to accept that his life would now be free of its usual sense of life-threatening danger. He'd never had such a comfortable arrangement, having gone from a peasant's life with the Dursleys to a few moments of bliss at Hogwarts before he began life at the top of Voldemort's hit list.

Now, he lived with his new family, the Weasleys, was closer than ever with his best friends, had a magnificent godson, and was even on good terms with Dudley Dursley.

Somewhere through these thoughts, Harry welcomed sleep, hoping Ron wouldn't find them naked in the morning.


	11. The Moja Mansion

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

* * *

"_The morning sun has vanquished the horrible night,_" mumbled Kreacher the House-Elf as he limped out of his room, nursing his throbbing forehead.

Kreacher's room was situated in a nook behind the stairs and was only accessible from the kitchen. Anyone who wandered into the nook would spot a lucid contrast between the area near Kreacher's room and the rest of the house. The wallpaper was a dark viridian color instead of cardinal and was lined with navy-and-gold stripes. The area was dimly lit by a solitary gas lamp on the far wall that flickered occasionally. Kreacher's was the only door in the area; a black wooden door with a silver serpent-shaped handle.

Kreacher brushed the swelling lump on his bald crown with his bony hand as he recalled the events of his nightmarish ordeal. The portrait of his old mistress, Mrs. Black, had erupted in a fit of rage when he told her of his servitude and friendship with the half-blood Harry Potter and his Muggleborn and blood traitor friends. Kreacher hadn't even mentioned the redecoration of number twelve, Grimmauld Place before he was ordered to inflict bodily harm upon himself for his insolence. He complied, bludgeoning himself over the head with an old war mace that once belonged to a royal ancestor of the Black family.

What frightened the short, wispy elf the most was not his late mistress' fury, but that fleeting moment where he had considered disobeying her. For so long, Kreacher's visceral reaction to a command bellowed by Mrs. Black was immediate obligation. Then, for one split second, Kreacher experienced a surge of anger and resentment towards the Black family, those champions of hatred, those proponents of vassalage he'd been made to serve and disciplined to worship.

Kreacher's ancestors, whose heads now hung in shrunken form on his wall, dared not disobey their Dark overseers. Any resistance would be met with swift, often lethal punishment. Had Kreacher consorted with Muggleborns and blood traitors while under the rule of the Black Family, it would have been all over but for the screaming.

Now, Kreacher was experiencing a new emotion he did not recognize: a sense of self-entitlement borne of years spent as the diligent shepherd of the Black family's honor. He considered Dobby, who had flouted the concept of House-Elf enslavement, betrayed his masters in favor of his altruistic values, and come closer than any elf, Goblin, or Centaur to being treated as an equal by humans.

As Kreacher entered the kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, he pondered the consequences of noncompliance under Master Harry Potter's employ. Should he disobey an order, his head would probably remain on his shoulders. He'd be given a pat on the back and a beam of admiration from the big-haired Muggleborn, and perhaps a scrap of bacon from the crass redhead.

Kreacher hopped up onto the kitchen counter and opened a cabinet in search of his newfound delight: the Muggleborn's sugar-free snacks. He reached one skeletal arm into the box, which he hadn't bothered to inspect until Master Harry had opened it the previous night, and retrieved a stale brown biscuit. He sat down on the counter with his little legs dangling over the edge and ate quietly.

"_It won't do to dwell on Kreacher's problems,_" grumbled Kreacher in his deep, raspy voice.

"_No._" Kreacher slid down from the counter and walked aimlessly through the house, nibbling on his biscuit. "_Mistress' problems. Kreacher has no problems._"

"I could name a few," said a voice from the wall beside him. Kreacher looked up and noticed he'd wandered into the living room. Sirius Black yawned from his portrait, before saying, "Your ear hair needs a trim, for one."

"_Your_ hair needs a trim," replied Kreacher. He then widened his tennis ball-sized eyes and slapped a hand over his disrespectful mouth.

"What the devil?" Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Kreacher, capable of cheek? And here I thought you were hopeless. I'm impressed."

"Master Sirius," said Kreacher, searching the room for an object with which to pummel himself. "Kreacher apologizes for his transgression!"

"I said I was _impressed,_" said Sirius as Kreacher grabbed the wooden wireless from the table by the window. "Don't go and whack yourself. Mouth off to me. I implore you."

"Is Master certain?" said Kreacher sheepishly, putting the radio down.

"Absolutely."

"Very well." Kreacher pointed a skinny finger at Sirius. "Master Sirius..."

Kreacher appeared to be gathering his strength.

"Is a r-reckless, i-insubordinate, p-pea-brained, scruffy, brooding, bedraggled, womanizing, irresponsible, hot-headed doofus with a penchant for indiscriminately promiscuous women and cheap alcohol."

"My, Kreacher, I didn't know you had such a vocabulary," said Sirius, chuckling. "That's pretty much spot-on. I'd offer a rebuttal but you might not have time - you've probably got to go shine your poisoned daggers or something."

"B-but Master?"

"What?"

"I have besmirched one of my masters!" growled Kreacher, as if annoyed by the lack of a backlash.

"And it's about time, too," replied Sirius. "You should have stood up for yourself a long time ago."

"But my old Mistress, she is not of the same view," said Kreacher. "Kreacher thought she might embrace the new ways like Kreacher - _for_ Kreacher."

"She's a portrait," replied Sirius. "She's set in her ways - as am I. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to sleep."

* * *

"Morning, Hermione," yawned the orange-haired boy, stretching his long body out under the blue-and-white striped blanket over the bed.

"Good, you're up," said his bushy brown-haired girlfriend, already fully dressed and pacing back and forth near the foot of the bed. She stopped to glance at Ron, who had sat up and was rubbing his murky eyes. "Well? Get up, then!"

"Calm down, Hermione." Ron shifted to the side of the bed and slid off, rising to his feet. "You'd think she was the bloody Muggle Queen of England or something."

"I'm calm." Hermione jogged over to Ron's dresser and began fishing through the unorganized clutter for suitable clothing. "I just don't want to give that dreadful woman any ammunition."

"I can dress myself, Hermione," said Ron as he yawned again. "Besides, I can tell when you're nervous."

"You can not," said Hermione, still searching through his clothes.

"Yes, I can."

Ron retrieved his Mermish starflower from the bedside table. It gleamed such a bright silver that he had to squint to shield his eyes as he walked to the window. Its leaves, which curled when the night of the full moon was near, were just beginning to straighten. Accordingly, Ron's appearance had suffered from his recent transformation. His teeth were darker, his eyes were clammy, and his entire body was lined with faint shadows that made him look aged.

"How?" Hermione withdrew Ron's khaki pants and began smoothing them out.

"You really want to know?" Ron slid the curtains open, flooding the dark room with pale white light from the clouded skies outside.

"Obviously," said Hermione.

She glanced at Ron, who was placing his flower on the window sill as per Neville's instructions. As he was dressed only in orange Chudley Cannons boxers, she became distracted once again by his bare chest, which she found peculiar. Though he'd grown more muscle lately, his ribs still showed, and there was no visible hair on his chest or stomach, both of which were cluttered with various scars; some were thick jagged rips while others were pale pink lines. When her gaze finally reached his face, she saw that he was grinning.

"I can smell it," he explained as he strode across the room towards his dresser. "Only 'round the fuzzy side of the month, mind, and, given the state I'm in around that time, you get nervous quite a bit."

"Werewolves become more lupine when their transformation is near," explained Hermione, pulling a white shirt from Ron's drawer. "Don't you get a bit colorblind as well?"

"Yeah." Ron took the clothing Hermione had selected and began dressing. "Thanks."

"I know you can dress yourself, by the way," she said, walking towards the door. "Just not well," she added, before escaping into the hall.

"Oi!" growled Ron while pulling his socks over his feet. "Maybe I should come down there in nothing but Kreacher's pillowcase. That'd teach her."

"Ron?" called Hermione's voice from the hall. Ron looked up at the doorway as she stepped into view, scrubbing her teeth with a toothbrush. "What does it smell like? Oh, I feel gross now."

"Steady there, Granger," replied Ron, smirking, as he tied his shoes. "It doesn't smell bad. It smells like ... Dust."

"Dust?"

"Yeah. You know how bread tastes? That's how it smells." Ron nodded, apparently satisfied with his elaboration, and walked past Hermione and into the hallway.

"What in the world does that mean?" wondered Hermione, jogging to keep up with Ron's long strides as she followed him to the bathroom. "That doesn't make any sense."

"It's hard to explain," said Ron, before closing the door in her face.

Hermione scowled at the black wooden door for a moment before turning and walking down the stairs to use the bathroom on the second floor to continue brushing her teeth. She stopped by Harry and Ginny's room and rapped on the door lightly to wake them; there was a rapid shuffling as they could be heard jolting out of bed. Hermione widened her eyes, then proceeded to the bathroom with a smirk.

Just as Hermione entered the bathroom and began rinsing her mouth, there was a loud shriek from the first floor. Hermione quickly drew her wand and dashed down the stairs into the first floor hallway to investigate the source of the commotion. As she reached the foyer, she saw the olive-colored dust golem that took the form of Albus Dumbledore rising like a tree from the rug in front of the door, his arms stretched out at a short, stocky, whimpering blonde woman. Kreacher was casually walking away from the scene; Hermione presumed he'd let her in without suppressing the protective dust charm.

"Down!" cried the woman. "Get away! I'm Rita Skeeter!"

"_Mmm!_" said Hermione, realizing her mouth was still full of toothpaste and water.

There were rapid footsteps from the staircase behind her as Ron shuffled down the steps, looking alarmed.

"Tell him you didn't kill him!" he suggested.

"I didn't kill you!" said Rita, waving a pudgy hand at the figure of dirt. It exploded in a pale green haze, eliciting another shriek from Rita.

"It's just a spell_,_" said Ron, poorly containing his laughter.

"Lovely," said Rita, slowly regaining her composure and jotting a few notes down on her pad. "Just lovely!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes and pointed towards the living room. Rita stepped through the hallway and into the living room, scribbling observations along the way. She seemed surprised by the bright scarlet Gryffindor tapestries, red armchairs, and cardinal wallpaper. Hermione supposed the house had a reputation for its celebration and display of Dark magic. Hermione excused herself with a hand gesture and jogged off to the kitchen to rinse her mouth.

"Harry'll be down in a second," said Ron as he took a seat in one of the bloodred armchairs that surrounded the coffee table and propped his feet onto it. "Go on, sit down."

Rita glanced unsurely at her seating options, then decided to sit down on the couch. She crossed her legs and rested her pad on her knee.

"So, Mr. Weevil," she began.

"Weasley," corrected Ron.

"Oh, right, terribly sorry - So, Rupert -"

"_Ron._" Ron bared his yellow teeth. "My name is Ron bloody Weasley!"

"My apologies." Rita began writing. "Interview with Ron B. Weasley..."

Ron began to protest, but faltered as 'B' happened to be his middle initial. The patter of two sets of footsteps sounded in the hall as Harry and Ginny descended the stairs. They entered the room together as Hermione returned, and soon Rita was surrounded by the residents of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"Hello," said Harry as he sat down in an armchair.

When Ginny squeezed in next to him, he caught Ron's eye and cleared his throat awkwardly, then stood and walked over to an unoccupied chair. Ron raised an eyebrow, his eyes shifting back and forth between Harry and Ginny, as Hermione sat next to him.

"Let's begin, then," said Rita. "So, Harry, you're back at Privet Drive - it's the summer before what was to be your seventh year at Hogwarts - what's going through your mind?"

"Losing hope," said Harry. "Dumbledore was gone. Made the mistake of reading your rubbish in the Daily Prophet smearing him."

"Oh, yes, the rage, the fire..." Rita rapidly scratched her brown owl-feather quill against her notepad. "Tell me more."

"Not much to it. I felt left in the dark, unprepared. I regretted never asking Dumbledore about his past. I felt foolish for not realizing that he was once my age."

"All sparked by my article," tutted Rita. "Interesting."

Harry wanted to tell her the article meant nothing and that he'd forgotten about it the moment he angrily discarded the paper, but he couldn't. Then, a deep and raspy voice spoke from beside him.

"Breakfast, Master Harry?" said Kreacher the House-Elf, standing near the coffee table, clutching a heavy frying pan.

"Yes, thank you," said Harry. Rita gave Kreacher an appraising look.

"Master?" she repeated. "You still own the House-Elf?"

A faint grin flashed across her face as she glanced at Hermione, who had suddenly become very interested in the design of the living room rug. As she gave Hermione a furtive look, she was unable to see the disgruntled Kreacher raising the cast-iron pan above his head, poised to clobber her.

"Kreacher!" hissed Harry. Kreacher halted at once and turned to exit the room before Rita could see what was going on.

"_Brazen swine,_" he mumbled. Rita shivered by the sound of his croaking, phlegmy voice.

"He lives here," said Hermione. "He works at Hogwarts, and he's paid."

"But he's cooking breakfast for us," argued Rita.

"After that little comment of yours, I'd say he's only cooking breakfast for _us,_" said Ginny.

"We all do chores," explained Hermione. "He's got his own room, with his own bed. He's treated the same as any of us."

"She treats him better than me," added Ron, smirking. Ginny snorted.

"Is your next book titled Harry Potter and Kreacher, the House-Elf?" said Harry. Rita shook her head. "Right, then. Let's move on."

"How were you -"

"What's _she_ doing here?" asked a voice from behind Rita. She turned around to see Sirius black sitting up in his portrait, pointing a finger at her. "Not exactly the first thing I want to see in the morning - and I emphasize 'thing.'"

"A portrait of a convicted mass murderer in the living room," said Rita to herself, but loud enough to carry through the room. "_Charming._"

"Wrongfully convicted," corrected Sirius. "Nice lipstick, by the way. I'm guessing you're the reason some kids are afraid of clowns."

"By that same token, I imagine you've ruined pirates for them," shot Rita.

"Can we finish this up?" said Hermione. "I've got to go to work soon."

"Besides, you don't want to get into a pissing contest with Sirius about looks," warned Ron. "The man's bloody gorgeous."

"I agree," said Sirius.

"I was going to ask, before that annoying little interruption, how you were transported from Privet Drive to your hideout?" asked Rita.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny told the tale of the Battle Over Little Whinging to Rita as Kreacher served eggs and sausage. Sirius listened intently as well, supplying _ooohs_ and _aaahs_ during the most intense moments. By the time they'd gotten to the point where they'd been informed of Alastor Moody's death, Rita had to leave. As she stepped through the door, Rita insisted on a neutral venue for their next appointment, with a pointed glare at the portrait of Sirius.

"Good ruddy riddance," mumbled Ron as he activated the battered door's many locks.

"I've got to go," said Hermione, retrieving her black beaded bag and approaching the fireplace. "Oh! Actually, I've a favor to ask."

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"Do you remember that report about the break-in at Gringotts?" asked Hermione. Harry, Ron, and Ginny nodded. "The vault - it belonged to the Moja family. I knew I'd seen the name before. It's a family that's refused to register their House-Elf."

"Yeah?" Ron rubbed his chin skeptically. "What's the favor?"

"Well, it's quite suspicious, isn't it?" Hermione gripped a fistful of Floo powder. "Could you stop by their house and poke around a bit? I've asked Kingsley, but there isn't sufficient evidence to assign magical law enforcement to the case."

"So you want us to check on the House-Elf?" asked Harry.

"Yes," replied Hermione. "I'm worried about possible mistreatment. The House-Elf register helps H.U.R.L. greatly in ensuring the protection of House-Elf rights."

"Where do they live?" asked Ginny.

"Budleigh Babberton," replied Hermione.

"I'm sorry?" said Ron, as if Hermione had sneezed.

"Budleigh Babberton," repeated Harry. "That's where Slughorn was hiding when Dumbledore took me to recruit him to the Hogwarts staff."

"It's in the fields to the west," said Hermione. "It's a large mansion. It shouldn't be too difficult to find."

"We'll do it," said Ginny. Ron groaned.

"Thank you!" Hermione smiled, stepped into the fireplace, dropped the Floo powder over the flames, and said, "_Ministry of Magic!_"

* * *

The charming village of Budleigh Babberton consisted of a small clump of houses that surrounded a church tower, each house uniquely shaped and painted, unlike the uniformed dwellings of Privet Drive. The town was eerily absent of life, with its desolate streets and inanimate homes; the only movement was of the birds soaring over the rooftops and the trees that swayed in the brisk autumn breeze.

On the outskirts of the village, a three-story mansion stood at the edge of the forest, facing a vast green field. The mansion was bright white, with two brown chimneys rising from the roof and several trees from the nearby forest extending over its roofs and balconies. There was a weed growth rising from its porches up its white pillars, blanketing them like a big green web. Like the town of Budleigh Babberton, the mansion was calm and lifeless, without any activity visible through its many windows.

The people of Budleigh Babberton had begrudgingly come to accept the mansion since its construction when the Moja family first moved to the area years ago. Far from a gossiping community, the villagers politely ignored the presence of the tall white structure off in the distance, though the unspoken consensus was that it was an eyesore that contradicted the humble nature of the village. Nevertheless, the building was too far removed from the village to bother the townsfolk significantly.

Three people trudged along the dirt road that led from the village to the mansion, hugging their chests to brace themselves in the cold wind. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Ginny Weasley approached the handsome white mansion, cautiously drawing their wands as they climbed the steps onto the porch. The only sound that broke the eerie silence came from a wind chime near the door that was singing a broken melody in the breeze.

"Nice place," commented Ginny. Ron gave a grunt of agreement. "Must be an old Pureblood family. The name sounds foreign."

"Sounds like something you might order at that restaurant Hermione took us to," said Ron.

"I just hope we don't get in trouble," said Harry as they reached the front door. He grabbed the brass door knocker and clanged it a few times.

"What are we going to say to them anyway?" asked Ginny.

"Hello. Harry Potter here. Can I have a look at your House-Elf?" suggested Harry. Ginny sniggered while Ron raised his head, sticking his nose in the air.

"Either of you smell something?" asked Ron. He leaned into the front door and sniffed, then recoiled, grimacing in disgust. "This house _reeks!_"

"Are you sure it isn't your breath?" said Harry.

"I sort of smell it," said Ginny, leaning in. "Almost like rotten food."

"Rotten meat," said Ron. "It smells like a dead animal."

"Well, let's try to be a bit nicer when they open the door," said Harry. He banged the door knocker again. "_If_ they open the door."

"Maybe they aren't home," said Ginny, peering through a nearby window. "I don't see anything."

"Think we should go in?" said Ron. "Sneak in, do whatever it is Hermione's asked us to do, then we're off like thieves in the night."

"I don't think we technically have the authority," said Harry. He knocked again.

"Come off it, mate," scoffed Ron. "You're starting to sound like Percy."

"Fine, but just until we find the House-Elf," said Harry. "But don't break anything."

"So that's how you two make your notoriously reckless decisions?" said Ginny, raising her eyebrows. "That's it? Ron has a stupid idea and you make a feeble attempt to stop him? This is the duo that saved Hogwarts?"

"Oi," said Ron, smirking. "One of those stupid ideas was going down into the Chamber of Secrets to save your arse."

"That wasn't a stupid idea," said Ginny in a dignified tone.

"It's starting to seem like one," said Ron. "Now shut up."

Ron nudged Harry and Ginny out of the way, then turned to face the door. He backtracked as far as he could, to the end of the porch, then charged forward and rammed the door with his shoulder. The door emitted a loud _BANG_ and Ron was forcefully ejected from the porch, flying through the air and rolling on the ground like a big lanky tumbleweed before he skidded to a stop on the dirt road.

"_Bloody hell,_" breathed Ron as he rose to his feet, nursing a bruise on his rear.

"Yeah, the door might have protective charms," said Harry, as Ginny smirked. "Let's just go. I didn't bring my Cursebreaking scrolls, anyway."

"Nevermind that it's illegal," said Ginny as they walked down the steps of the front porch. "And danger-"

"What's that?" said Ron. He pointed at the mansion, and Harry and Ginny turned quickly, raising their wands. Nothing was awry.

"What is it, Ron?" said Harry.

"Someone was watching us," said Ron. "From that window, second on the right."

"Well, why'd you point, then?" said Ginny. "Obviously they're going to hide if you point at them."

"It wasn't a human," said Ron. "They were big eyes."

"They probably told the House-Elf not to answer the door when they're gone," said Harry. "Come on, let's leave before we're arrested."

* * *

"Rotten meat?" said Hermione as she filled her mug with coffee from the cauldron at the end of the office. "Odd, isn't it? They've got a House-Elf, but there were weeds growing on the walls?"

"Maybe they like the way it looks," said Ron, waiting to fill his own cup. "Like Ginny."

Harry began filling his cup after Ron. There was a disgruntled groan from a nearby cubicle as its curly-haired occupant, Travis, mumbled something about visitors taking coffee.

"Did you read today's Prophet?" said Hermione. Harry and Ron shook their heads. "Apparently the Goblins discovered blood in the Moja vault at Gringotts."

"Could it have belonged to the thief?" asked Harry.

"No, it had been there for a while." Hermione looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Perhaps we should visit after work."

"It's our day off!" whined Ron. "Just let it go, Hermione."

"But this is very suspicious!" said Hermione. "As an Auror, you should try to get to the bottom of this."

"It's a House-Elf!"

"They're worth just as much as us!" Hermione narrowed her eyes dangerously. "You should be protecting them as well - or do you only help them to gain my forgiveness?"

"Hold on, protect them from what? There's no evidence of abuse, other than the whole house smelling like Aunt Muriel."

"I'm more concerned about the cause of the smell," said Harry. He caught Hermione's eye. "It smelled just like Bathilda's house..."

"So you think they're dead?" said Ron. "Because their House-Elf's still alive, I saw him through the window."

"There was an investigation when their vault was robbed," said Hermione. "They were alive then."

"Maybe they caught the thief themselves and killed him?" suggested Harry. "But then, how?"

"Not likely," said Hermione. "If the Ministry can't catch this thief, I doubt they could. Perhaps it was just a dead animal?"

"Aha!" exclaimed Ron. He raised a finger, and theorized, "They were keeping a dead animal in that vault - there's your blood right there - and they ... stole it from their own vault, so that no one would know!"

Harry and Hermione simply stared at Ron for a moment.

"I've got to get back to work," said Hermione. "I'll see you tonight."

"Hold on," said Ron, grinning. "You're not getting off that easily. You've made me work on my day off, and now I'm collecting my reward."

Harry chuckled as Ron inched closer to Hermione while she glanced left and right, making sure none of her co-workers were watching.

"That's not appropriate!" hissed Hermione. "I'll see you soon, just wait!"

"No." Ron crossed his arms and smirked. "'Soon' is too long. I prefer 'now.'"

"Oh, fine," she said. "In here."

Harry watched with an amused grin as Hermione stealthily led Ron to her cubicle. After a moment, Ron emerged with a triumphant smile and a spring in his step.

"Bit brief, but it was worth it," he said as he passed by and headed for the exit.

Before long, Ron and Harry found themselves being thrown one-by-one from the Ministry's visitor exit, which was disguised as a dumpster in a dingy alley in Muggle London. By this time, the afternoon sun had peeked out through the clouds to supply the streets and buildings with a blanket of light.

"I think I want to stop by the shop," said Ron. "Maybe visit mum. Yeah?"

"I'd rather get back home," said Harry, rubbing his empty stomach.

"Come off it, Potter," said Ron. "Out of all the reasons not to stop by the Burrow, hunger isn't one of them. You just want to be alone with Ginny."

"What? No. That's - there are plenty of reasons. Why would you think that?"

"Only joking," said Ron, cocking an eyebrow. "Say, you and Ginny aren't fighting again, are you? Something seemed wrong this morning when Rita was there."

"No, nothing's wrong," said Harry. Ron continued to stare inquisitively. "Fine, something did happen."

"What?" Ron smirked. "What'd you do?"

"Well, er, thing is..." Harry hesitated, avoiding Ron's eyes. "Her."

"What?"

"You asked what I did..."

"What?" Ron widened his eyes.

"We decided it was time to, um, t-take the next step."

Harry suspected this was his last chance to flee before annihilation as Ron simply stared.

"What?"

"We had sex," explained Harry. "Merlin, it feels good to get that off my chest."

"What..." Ron's gobsmacked stare slowly turned into a pained grimace.

"It felt right," said Harry quickly. "I'll marry her, you know that, mate."

"You shagged my sister!" he finally said, pointing an accusatory finger at his cowering best friend. Harry flinched.

"I prefer 'made love' -"

"AHHH!" Ron shivered. "_AAAHHH!_"

"Calm down, Ron." Harry gulped. "You knew this would happen eventually, didn't you?"

"Right," said Ron, his voice a bit high-pitched. "A'course, yeah."

"And if it had to be anyone, aren't you glad it's me?" said Harry, smiling hopefully.

"I suppose that's true." Ron nodded, still wincing. "Yeah, it makes sense. Sure."

"She's eighteen now," added Harry. "She's an adult."

"For the love of Godric, Potter, just shut up," said Ron, looking down. Harry complied. "Just... let's not talk about it."

"All right."

"And don't talk about it to anyone else either," commanded Ron as he met Harry's eyes. "You'll have George to answer to if I catch you giving Dean and Seamus any details."

"I won't." Harry stared determinedly at Ron's intense gaze. "I promise."

"Okay." Ron sighed. "It's official now, Harry. You've got to stand by her."

"It was official a long time ago," said Harry. Ron managed a weak smile.

"You were _safe_ at least, right?"

"Of course! Neville taught me a spell, plus she's on the potion."

"Neville?" Ron's eyes widened. "_Neville Longbottom_ did that before us?"

"I reckon George is a bad influence on him," said Harry, grinning. "It's not a competition, anyway."

"Easy for you to say! You've dunnit!"

"So get to it, then!" Harry smirked. "I can't wait to turn the tables and bust your arse about this."

"Well, then, I'm going to the Burrow," said Ron. "I'll need some steak to get my mind off this."


	12. Have a Happy Halloween

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

* * *

The vast and brilliant atrium at the Ministry of Magic shone with its usual luster. The floor was a polished, reflective wood, the walls and fountain were white with shimmering golden plating, and the ceiling was a deep peacock-blue, cluttered with silver symbols that morphed and shifted continuously like a grand and heavenly notice board. There was a whooshing of running water from the fountain amidst the pattering footsteps and noisy chatter of the Ministry workers and guests.

On one side of the long hall, a line of witches and wizards was gathered at the stone fireplaces that lined the wall, waiting to exit the Ministry through the green flames. On the other side, people were materializing from puffs of fire within a similar line of fireplaces and briskly striding off towards the lifts. Observing the incoming workers while standing in the throng of Ministry employees were two young women.

"They always fall," said the one with bushy brown hair, which was currently up in a bun, and similarly colored chocolate-brown robes. "You've got to see it."

"I did, once," said the other, who had dark skin, jet black hair and multicolored robes that looked like the sky during a sunset. "When they were here for a disciplinary hearing."

"Oh, you saw them?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah." Parvati smirked. "Those two managed to break the law before the school year started. How did we ever win any House cups?"

"We wouldn't have if they hadn't saved the entire school every year."

Emerging from the bright green flames of a nearby fireplace, a tall orange-haired young man stumbled forth, doing a sort of ballet-style jig to maintain his balance. He shuffled through the crowd until he finally tripped and barreled into a crowd of aged Wizengamot elders. Parvati was overcome by giggles as Hermione hurried to aid the fallen warlocks along with the apologetic Ron.

"Watch where you're going, you little brat!" huffed one of the Wizengamot elders in a wispy voice, before retrieving his wooden pipe from the ground and stomping off.

"Right, then," said Ron quietly, scratching the back of his head. He looked up to the two smirking girls. "Oh, hi, Parvati."

"All right?" she asked.

"Yeah."

There was another roar of emerald flame as a man with crow-black hair skidded out into the atrium and held his hands out on either side to keep his balance. After a moment of wobbling, he relaxed and walked over to the group with a triumphant grin.

"How'd you do, Ron?" he asked.

"Almost," said Ron with a shrug.

"Parvati!" said Harry. "Nice robes."

"Thank you," she replied.

"Come on, let's get to the lifts before we're late," said Hermione.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Parvati ambled through the crowded atrium and entered a corridor that had several lifts with wrought-golden grilles that clanged open and shut when a lift arrived or departed. They filed into an empty lift and waited for a moment until it jutted upward and began its ascent.

"I've given Rita most of the information for her final book, so there won't be any more house visits," said Hermione. "Did I say 'book?' I meant 'collection of ridiculous lies placed in the general vicinity of a few facts.'"

"Wish you would have let Kreacher bludgeon her," said Ron with a wistful smile. "Oh well. Can't have everything in life."

Then, a soothing female voice echoed through the lift: "_Level seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office._"

The lift continued past this floor, as there were no wizards or witches awaiting it.

"So, Parvati, how've you been?" said Harry.

"Very good!" said Parvati. "I love working here. I thought it would be quite boring at first."

"I'd kill for some boring work," mumbled Ron.

"Judging by the look on your face when you saw my stack of paperwork, I don't think you would," said Hermione. Ron nodded thoughtfully.

The voice of the lift spoke again: "_Level six, Department of Magical Transport, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparation Test Center._"

"That's mine," said Parvati as she stepped through the rattling golden grilles. "How about lunch, Hermione?"

"I'll come by your desk," replied Hermione with a smile.

"All right." Parvati waved as the gates shut and they disappeared into the floor. "Goodbye!"

"There's been some news on that Moja case," said Hermione. "There was a case of underage magic in Topsham - that's near Budleigh Babberton - and as the student wasn't attending Hogwarts, the Ministry sent a Magical Law Enforcement officer to investigate. Standard Ministry procedure, of course, but the odd thing is the family claimed their son was defending himself from an Inferi attack."

"_Level five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law, and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats._"

"What does that have to do with the Moja thing?" wondered Ron. "And why isn't the kid at Hogwarts if he's old enough to violate that law?"

"He's home-schooled. He was set to go to Hogwarts two years ago, but his family thought Hogwarts was no longer safe without Dumbledore."

"They were right," said Harry. "But he should go now, shouldn't he? Hogwarts is great now."

"Oh, I don't know," huffed Hermione. "Does it matter? _Inferi!_ That could have been what you smelled at the Moja house. Inferi are corpses, after all."

"I doubt there was an Inferi attack," said Harry. "Dung's probably up to his old tricks again. Full of himself, that one."

"Full of Dung," said Ron, sniggering.

"Thank you, Ron, that was the joke," said Harry. Ron narrowed his eyes.

"_Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions,Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau._"

"All right, then," said Hermione. "I'll have to talk to Kingsley about it."

She made to leave, but Ron gripped her elbow.

"Oh, come on, Ron!" She gestured to a group of her co-workers that were chatting in the hall. "Look, Dorothy is watching!"

"You can't send me into battle with nothing," said Ron, grinning. He pulled Hermione to him and placed his lips onto hers. She feebly attempted to resist, before losing track of her thoughts and complying.

"Morning, Dorothy," said Harry awkwardly as Ron and Hermione broke apart.

"You'll pay," said Hermione. She turned and marched off in the direction of her cubicle.

* * *

Hogwarts stood atop its hill a shadowy figure that blotched out the stars scattered in the black sky above, with blips of golden light from its many windows. The moon was a white orb over the hills of leafless trees, obscured partially by clouds. The foggy grounds of Hogwarts were flickering with amber light by the glow of several floating jack-o-lanterns that wandered about the castle grounds like ghosts. A swarm of fluttering black bats was circling the castle's many turrets, occasionally flowing through the windows.

Mr. Filch, the grizzled caretaker of the school, was patrolling the grounds with a crooked limp, his lantern bobbing up and down as he walked. At his feet, a cat with glistening lamplike eyes that reflected the lights of the jack-o-lanterns was following Mr. Filch obediently. Occasionally, the spectral horsemen of the Headless Hunt would emerge from the castle and stampede along the Boathouse walkway.

Inside the castle walls, down in the Hufflepuff basement, four young second-year Hufflepuffs were gathered in the Boys Dormitory huddled over the Marauder's Map: Roque, with his short blonde flat top and Muggle adhesive bandages; Blackboot, with his long black hair, blue eyes, and black boots; Elena, with her wavy auburn hair in a ponytail as she monitored the map and chomped on Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans; and Munky, tall, lanky, and Asian, pointing at various key areas of the map with one of his slender fingers.

"If our scouting is correct, Filch has started his patrol of the grounds," said Roque. "With that little treat we left for him in the Owlery, I'd say he'll be tied up for quite a while."

"That was a trick, not a treat," said Blackboot, grinning. Elena scoffed. "Oh, shut up, Ellie. It's Halloween!"

"Here he goes," said Elena, shaking her head.

"Shadows of a thousand years rise again unseen!" declared Blackboot. "Voices whisper in the trees, 'tonight is Halloween!'"

"The stares of a million pairs of eyes! The shrieks of a million bats in the skies!" Roque and Munky had joined in at this point, and they chanted in unison, "From shadows we come, and to shadows we go! That Halloween is terror, we maketh so!"

Elena begrudgingly offered an insignificant contribution to the chant in a small voice.

"Bandits, we stay, all night and day! Bandits do what Bandits may!"

The four Hufflepuffs' chant was interrupted as the circular door of the Boys Dormitory slid open by disappearing into the wall like a big rolling coin. As the door opened, it revealed a smiling blonde-haired witch with icy blue eyes, holding a bottle of Butterbeer. Blackboot exhaled a gleeful sigh as she entered the room, while Roque quickly picked up the Marauder's Map and deactivated it.

"_Mischief managed,_" said Roque quickly. Donna raised an eyebrow.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," said Roque. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see Adrian." Donna smiled and approached the grinning Blackboot.

"Hello," said Blackboot, affecting his suave smirk.

"There, you've seen him," said Elena. "Bye now. We've got work to do."

Donna narrowed her eyes at Elena, but soon refocused her attention on Blackboot.

"Hello," she said.

"Where'd you get that Butterbeer?" asked Munky.

"Oh, a Gryffindor boy came around here selling them," said Donna. "I can get you one if you want."

"No thanks," said Roque, grinding his teeth. Donna shrugged, then turned to Blackboot.

"Why don't you come out to the Common Room?" she asked. "We're having a -"

"I said we're busy!" hissed Elena. "This is a Bandit-only meeting. Are you a Bandit?"

"About that," began Blackboot. "I was wondering..."

"Not a sailor's chance in hell," said Roque, crossing his arms. "We already have one girl and that's plenty. Insubordinate fool."

"Fine!" said Blackboot. "Forget I asked."

"They aren't even nice to you," said Donna. "Come on."

"He'll not be going," said Elena. "But you will. Now!"

"I'd like to see you make me!" shot Donna.

"Fine." Elena looked to Roque. "Roque?"

Roque looked to Munky. "Munky?"

Munky sighed and stood, rising to his full and towering height before Donna. The height difference was so great that Munky's chin nearly touched his chest as he peered down at her. She glared at him for a moment, then huffed and exited through the sliding wooden door. Munky returned to his seat on the floor as Roque repositioned the Marauder's Map at the center of their huddle.

"Unruly girl," said Roque. "We should learn some sort of charm to lock the room when we conduct our roundtables."

"We should also get a table if we're going to keep calling them 'roundtables,'" said Blackboot. "And Donna was being perfectly nice before you guys insulted her."

"She was trying to get you to take her side!" argued Elena. "Didn't you hear her? 'They aren't even nice to you.'"

"You aren't, though." Blackboot raised an eyebrow. "But I'm still on your side."

"I'm tired of this conversation," said Roque. "We've had it about fifty times. Ellie, do you have the Jackolate?"

"Of course," said Elena. She turned around and reached into her school bag, then withdrew four candy bars and distributed them among the Bandits. "You'll have to eat the full thing so that it lasts all night."

"We'll still have our senses, won't we?" said Roque, examining the candy bar. The wrapper was black with a design of orange pumpkins and gray bats. The label read _Jackolate_, and there was a golden _W_ on the corner of the bar.

"Yes," said Elena. She unwrapped hers and began eating the chocolate, which was milky brown with wavy swirls of orange.

"Making candy now, is he?" said Munky as he chomped down onto his candy. "He's already putting Zonko's out of business, now he's after Honeydukes?"

"He's going to buy Zonko's, he says," said Roque as he unwrapped his Jackolate bar. "Eat up, Blackboot. What's the matter?"

"You guys don't think I'm loyal," said Blackboot, pouting. He slowly peeled the wrappings off of his candy bar. "Plus, you've gone and ruined my chances with Donna."

"Who cares?" said Munky. "Judging by my brother, we only have a few years left before we become all barmy and start pining over girls."

"Who needs them?" added Roque.

"Excuse me," said Elena, narrowing her eyes. "I'm a girl. I don't think..."

"You don't think what?" asked Roque distractedly as he monitored the Marauder's Map. "Ellie?"

He looked up, and saw not Elena's chubby cheeks and auburn hair, but a large pumpkin resting on her shoulders. Carved in the pumpkin were triangular eyes and nose, and a jagged mouth that formed a wicked grin, all of which emitted a bright yellow glow. He looked around at the rest of his friends to see that they'd all grown similar pumpkins where their heads once were. Roque reached up to feel his own face, but felt the surface of a smooth pumpkin instead.

"Wicked!" said Munky's voice from within the glowing pumpkin. "Look at us!"

"Get the capes," said Roque. "We'll be paying a visit to Slughorn's Halloween party."

"Right, but how are we going to get the Cornish Pixies there?" asked Elena as she reached into her bag and began passing out black cloaks.

"I've stored them in the classroom at the end of that corridor." Roque pointed to a section of the map near the dungeons. "Munky will only have to move it down the hall."

"Oi!" said Munky. "I'm not the only one who can carry things!"

"Blackboot, you have the joke shop stuff, right?" asked Roque. Blackboot nodded and patted the school bag slung over his shoulder. "Good. There's my lieutenant."

"Hold on," said Elena. "If Blackboot's the lieutenant, and Munky's the enforcer, then what am I?"

"The girl," said Roque. Elena rolled her eyes, which went unnoticed as her eyes were currently a solid yellow. "Let's go, then. We'll outdo Peeves tonight, we will."

* * *

"Mind your toes!" warned Munky as several first-years that were gathered in the Gryffindor Common Room scrambled to escape the swarm of piranha-like Licorice Snap the Bandits had just released.

The Bandits stood by the portrait of Fred Weasley, who was chuckling feverishly as the young Gryffindors retreated back to their dormitories to escape the chomping candies. Blackboot had captured one of the wiggling Licorice Snaps and was attempting to stuff it into the mouth of his pumpkin mask, which had a permanent sinister grin. Before long, Dennis Creevey came running from the Boys Dormitory, alerted, and began zapping the chattering black sweets with a nonverbal curse that made them dissolve into smoke.

"You!" exclaimed Dennis, pointing at the Bandits. "What the - Oi! Stop right there! I'm Head Boy!"

"Why does every Head Boy insist on saying that?" wondered Roque aloud as they hastily filed into the passageway behind Fred's portrait.

"Let me in!" demanded Dennis as the portrait closed just before he could reach them.

"Password?" asked Fred in a dignified tone; it was quite the accurate impression of the Fat Lady.

"Um..." Dennis rubbed his chin. "Waddlebird?"

"Wrong," said Fred, chuckling, before he turned and disappeared through the side of his portrait and out of sight. "I'll just be off, then. Portrait party, you know."

Meanwhile, the four pumpkin-headed Hufflepuffs dashed out of the kitchens and turned left towards the Transfiguration Courtyard. As they ran, Blackboot withdrew a large green box with purple, red, and yellow streamers flowing from its four corners and a painting of a tribal African mask on the front. It was labeled _Portable Swamp_.

"_Witch and ghost make merry on this last of dear October's days!_" chanted Blackboot, his voice echoing through the courtyard.

"Call more attention to us, why don't you?" mumbled Roque.

"Come, now, Roque! 'Tis All Hallow's Eve!" protested Blackboot jovially. "Tonight is our night!"

The Bandits passed over the moonlit green grass of the open Transfiguration Courtyard like four running shadows and entered a corridor on the other side that led to Ravenclaw Tower. Munky was monitoring the Marauder's Map as they moved, occasionally calling for a change of direction when they crossed paths with a staff member or Peeves. Blackboot's voice rang through the torchlit corridors of Hogwarts as he recited his favorite Halloween sayings and songs.

"_Double, double, toil and trouble!_" sang Blackboot.

"How are we going to get in?" asked Munky.

"Timmy Yolk," said Roque. "He's agreed to help us because we returned his badge."

"But we were the ones that stole it in the first place!" said Elena.

"He doesn't know that," said Roque as they climbed the stairs that led to the Ravenclaw portrait hole.

As they neared the portrait hole, they spotted a young second-year Ravenclaw with short black hair, circular glasses, and pasty-white skin. As he held the portrait open, he was shifting on his feet and casting nervous glances to the nearby portraits on the walls, all of which were empty as their residents had joined in Dumbledore's Portrait Party in the Headmistress' office. He widened his eyes and adjusted his glasses when he saw the Bandits' pumpkin heads and glowing golden eyes.

"H-Hello," he said. "Nice costumes..."

"All right, Timmy?" said Roque.

"Er - Yeah..." Timmy gulped. "What is it you're going to do, exactly?"

"Don't worry about that," said Munky. "Just clear off and act like you never saw us. Go on."

Timmy began to enter the Ravenclaw Common Room.

"Not in there," said Elena. "Honestly, Timmy, have some sense."

"Oh, well, all right." Timmy walked past the Bandits and down the stairs, perhaps going to establish an alibi.

"Good bloke," said Blackboot. "Almost feel bad about taking advantage of him."

"Let's not waste time," said Roque.

Blackboot nodded and tossed the Portable Swamp box into the Ravenclaw Common Room, where it tumbled along the ground. Elena drew her wand and took aim.

"_Incendio!_" she exclaimed, flicking her wand in the direction of the box.

An orange spark shot from the tip of her wand and collided with the box. Instantly, the box had exploded and mossy green patches began to form on the ground. Murky water was flooding into the room from thin-air, and there were vines hanging from the ceiling. Roque shut the unoccupied portrait over the portrait hole before any water could leak out into the corridor, and then led the rush down the stairs as several shrieks and agonized groans sounded from within the room they'd just drenched.

Emitting sinister cackles loud enough to rival those of Peeves the Poltergeist, the four Battle-Axe Bandits sped through the halls, only stopping to avoid staff members and older students, whose paths were revealed by the Marauder's Map. They made their way down toward Slughorn's Halloween party, which was being held in one of the roomier dungeons near the Charms Corridor, where Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had once attended the deathday party of Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost.

"They're in here," said Roque halfway down the hall to Slughorn's party. He opened a nearby door and hurried through it into an empty classroom.

The Bandits followed Roque through the grid of desks towards the back of the classroom where a plum tapestry was draped over the back wall. There was a large cubical bulge in the cloth. Roque lifted the curtain to reveal the poorly hidden wooden crate behind it, which was rattling slightly with quiet squeaks and shrieks from the frantic creatures within.

"Where'd you get Cornish Pixies anyway?" asked Elena. "George doesn't sell them, does he?"

"Nicked them from Astadourian's office." Roque nodded to Munky, then gestured to the crate.

Munky kneeled down in front of the crate and curled his long arms around it, hugging it to his belly. Roque lifted the other side from underneath, and they began inching towards the door, occasionally bumping into desks and chairs as they walked. According to Elena, who now held the Marauder's Map, Slughorn's party was packed with about forty witches and wizards. Blackboot peeked his giant orange head out into the corridor to check for witnesses.

"Clear," he said. They walked out into the hall.

The Bandits hauled the big wooden crate to the door of the dungeon where the party was held and cracked the door open slightly. Inside, guests were talking and eating, and some were dancing to the music of a harp that had been bewitched to play on its own. In the middle of the chatting partygoers, Professor Slughorn was patting his large gut and laughing jovially with an old kind-looking witch, presumably recalling a long and boring story about his connections with Gwenog Jones or Harry Potter.

Roque began removing the nails from the crate through repeated use of the Waddiwasi charm. Once the nails had gone, it took all his strength to keep the lid down as the little creatures inside the box were desperately attempting to escape.

"Now!" said Roque, putting all of his weight on the box. "Hurry!"

Blackboot pulled the door open fully, and Roque pulled the lid from the box and kicked it so that it slid into the dungeon. Blackboot quickly shut the door, locking the enraged pixies in with the guests. Before the door closed fully, the Bandits caught a glimpse of chaos ensuing, as pixies immediately began stealing goblets and pouring their contents over people's heads, unscrewing the chandelier overhead, and throwing bits of food everywhere.

Immediately, the Bandits ran back up to the Charms Corridor and dashed down the hall towards the Grand Staircase. They passed a group of second-year Slytherins who broke apart and screamed, their frightened faces illuminated by the golden glow of the Bandits' yellow eyes.

"Have a happy Halloween!" called Blackboot to the startled Slytherins as he passed, erupting in an evil chuckle. "It could be your last!"

"The Grand Staircase is clear!" said Elena, still monitoring the map.

"The seventh floor, then," said Munky. "No one ever goes up there!"

"All right," said Roque.

"No!" said Elena as she stopped at the foot of the stairs. Her fellow Bandits stopped and looked at her expectantly. "I don't believe it - Sean's on the seventh floor, alone, in the Arithmancy classroom."

"What a bookworm," commented Blackboot.

"_Drat!_" said Roque, clenching his fist. "It won't be long before we've got teachers on our tail. Four pumpkin-headed students fleeing to our Common Room - even Trelawney wouldn't miss that!"

"Let's go to the seventh floor, then," said Munky. "Perfect chance to repay Sean for ruining our Butterbeer operation, innit?"

"Fine," said Roque.

The Bandits climbed the shifting staircases, making their way to the top floor of the tall Grand Staircase. They finally reached the seventh floor, panting slightly from the trip, and filed into a corridor that led to the Arithmancy classroom. The torches on the walls of the hall were unlit, and the room was illuminated by the blue-tinted moonlight that filtered through the high windows. Only the orange glow of the Bandits' eyes, noses, and zig-zagging mouths could be seen in the shadows as they ran.

"_Four black cats! Four black cats!_" chanted Blackboot as they dashed, his voice echoing through the empty corridor. "_In witches' hats, witches' hats!_"

They passed the Room of Requirement, which had been boarded up and sealed magically, and reached the sturdy wooden door to the Arithmancy classroom. With a wiggle of the brass handle, they realized it was locked.

"_Alohomora!_" whispered Elena, prodding the tip of her wand against the lock. There was a whimper from inside as it sprang open.

Roque attempted to open the door, but it only opened slightly before being blocked by a heavy object. He stepped aside and nodded to Munky; the tall enforcer charged at the door and shouldered it open, pushing the barricade of desks and chairs aside. At the far and of the room, a figure stood nearly as short as Professor Flitwick. He had a blonde bowl-cut and bright green eyes behind his golden-framed spectacles.

"Hello, there," said Blackboot wickedly as the four Hufflepuffs approached. "What are you doing up here?"

"None of your business," replied Sean, his voice slightly more high-pitched than usual. "I was just ... just..."

"Hiding?" guessed Roque. "You can't hide from us."

"Not tonight," added Blackboot. "'Tis Halloween."

"Right." Sean gulped as they backed him into a wall, surrounding him.

"What were you hiding from, Sean?" asked Elena. "Feeling guilty?"

"Guilty?"

"You ratted us out to Filch," said Munky. "That passageway didn't have anything to do with you."

"You could have hurt someone!" protested Sean. "Besides, if you touch me, I'll tell Mr. Fil-"

"Tell him what?" asked Roque quickly. "You were attacked by four pumpkins?"

"By the Bandits!"

"The Bandits are in the Boys Dormitory down in the Hufflepuff basement right now," said Blackboot. "Just ask Donna Wessger."

"You can't fool me," said Sean, standing straighter and crossing his arms. "Slytherin was next, wasn't it? You attacked the Gryffindors, then I'd heard about Ravenclaw - your Portable Swamps - and now you're after Slytherin!"

"No, not Slytherin," said Roque. "Just you. You've been a thorn in our bums for too long now."

"What should we do?" wondered Elena. "Turn him into a cockroach?"

"No," said Munky. "We'd be doing him a favor."

"Why don't we chuck him into the lake and see how he fares against the Giant Squid?" said Roque, raising his wand. Sean flinched.

"We could tie him up in the girls' lavatory and force him to listen to Moaning Myrtle," suggested Elena.

"Woah!" said a voice from behind them. They quickly turned to see the widened eyes of the Gryffindor second-year Con Castle, who was staring down at a piece of parchment in amazement. "What's this?"

"That's ours!" said Roque, making a grab for the Marauder's Map. Con swiftly stepped back, out of Roque's reach.

"It's a map of Hogwarts, but - but how does it know where everyone is?" Con avoided another swipe without taking his eyes from the map.

"Give it back!" demanded Elena, raising her wand. Con looked up, then recoiled at the sight of their giant orange heads.

"What the ... what's happened to your heads?" asked Con, chuckling. "Merciful Merlin. Did Sean do this to you?"

"Of course not! That's - wait..." Roque looked around and failed to locate the tiny Slytherin. "_Double drat!_ He's gone!"

"It's like keeping track of a Niffler," said Munky.

"All right," said Blackboot. "Con, give us our map back."

"I'm thinking 'no,'" said Con with a grin. "Why don't I hang onto it for a bit?"

"I'm thinking - HEY!" Roque growled as Con turned and sprinted towards the door.

The Bandits pursued Con through to the corridor, chasing him past the blocked entrance to the Room of Requirement and down the hall to the Grand Staircase. Slowly but surely, Munky's long legs were helping him catch up to the young Gryffindor. Con ripped the door to the Grand Staircase open and began descending the shifting stairs. On the sixth floor, he reached a dead-end as one of the staircases decided to change direction, leaving him stranded on an open platform.

"Ha!" said Roque triumphantly as they began shuffling down the stairs in Con's direction.

Con frantically shifted on his feet, waiting for the staircase rotate in his direction and form a bridge over which he could escape, but the stone steps remained locked to another platform. Con turned and groped around the portraits on the wall behind him in search of a secret passage, but found nothing.

As the Bandits neared, he pocketed the Marauder's Map and took a deep breath. Then, he ran to the end of the platform and leapt off the edge just as the Bandits reached him. He soared across the room, over the six-story drop, and landed on the opposite platform one floor below, immediately collapsing onto the ground from the force of the landing.

The Bandits stared, wide-eyed, as he stood up, brushed himself off, and turned to face them with a simper. He withdrew the Marauder's Map from his back pocket and saluted them, then turned around and did a short hop, clicking his heels together in mid-air, before shuffling down the stairs that led to the Gryffindor Common Room.

There was an awed silence among the pumpkin-headed Bandits, until their leader finally spoke.

"_Triple drat!_"


	13. Muggles and Metamorphmagi

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

* * *

With five _*cracks*_, a group of youths materialized on the front lawn of a large home within a suburban grid of houses. Harry, with his wild black hair tucked under one of Mrs. Weasley's puffball hats, was shivering slightly in the air of the cold November night. Beside him, Ron was looking grime, almost dead, with shadowy eyes and darkened teeth; the month was at an end. Hermione was rubbing Ron's shoulders consolingly from behind.

Accompanying the trio were their co-workers Ernie and Clarinda. The latter, unlike Harry, Ron, and Ernie, stood upright with no signs of fatigue from the training session they'd just undergone. Clarinda was standing on her toes to peer through the window of the house into the living room.

"I don't think we should Apparate directly into Muggle areas," said Ernie as Harry led the way to the front door of the nearby house.

"Apparition's a bit of a soft offense," said Hermione. "There's such little chance that a Muggle would think that somebody simply appeared out of thin air. You're right, of course, but good luck convincing these two not to do something if they won't get punished."

"You did it too. It's dark, anyway," said Harry as the group arrived at the door. He turned to face his friends. "Teddy's very impressionable, so no swearing, Ron."

"Oi, I'm not the only one who swears," huffed Ron.

"I know, but you're not used to holding your tongue," Harry reasoned. "It took me a while to adjust as well."

"Got that, Hermione?" said Ron, rounding on her. "No swearing. I know it'll be hard for you..."

"Ha!" said Clarinda. "I haven't heard her swear since ... ever."

"I don't see any point to it," said Hermione with dignity. "There are better ways to express yourself."

"Come on, give us a curse," said Ron. "Give us an 'eff.'"

"I will not."

"How about a tiny, measly 'bloody hell?'"

"No."

"At least say something that's grammatically incorrect," Ron pleaded. "Go on, how about a split infinitive?"

"Get your jollies later, Ron," said Harry. He rapped his knuckles on the front door three times.

After a moment, there were a few metallic clicks from the door as its locks were being undone, then it opened to reveal Andromeda Tonks. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ernie recoiled immediately at her appearance; she resembled her vile sister, Bellatrix, far too closely, though she looked much kinder. She frowned as she saw them flinching, and rolled her eyes.

"I'm going to dye my hair," she decided. The group laughed. "Anyway, hello, and I don't believe I've met you two?"

"Ernie Macmillan," said Ernie proudly. "I'm an Auror-in-training. I was in Harry's hear at Hogwarts."

"I'm Andromeda." Andromeda shook Ernie's hand. "Another Gryffindor then?"

"Hufflepuff."

"My daughter was in Hufflepuff," said Andromeda with a weak smile. She turned to Clarinda. "Hello, there. What's your name?"

"Clarinda," she replied brightly. "I didn't go to Hogwarts—I'm from Australia—and I'm an Auror-in-training too."

"All right, where's the little one?" asked Ron, peeking inside.

"Come, he's in the sitting room," said Andromeda as she stepped back to admit the five witches and wizards, then closed and locked the door.

"Goffadda!" greeted Teddy as they stepped into the sitting room.

"Teddy Lupin!" exclaimed Harry, stretching his arms out to invite Teddy into a hug. "Wotcher!"

Teddy hopped off the couch and ran towards Harry, but immediately tripped and fell on his stomach.

"Oh, careful!" said Harry, as Ron sniggered.

"Wotcha," said Teddy as he rose to his feet and hugged Harry, who marveled at the idea of a toddler who appeared to have already come to grips with his clumsiness.

"I'll make tea," said Andromeda as the group greeted Harry's turquoise-haired godson.

"I'll help," said Clarinda, following Andromeda off to the kitchen.

"Teddy, this is Ernie," said Harry. Teddy nodded, his hair turning blonde to match Ernie's.

"And you remember Hermione, don't you? Er, why don't we start by calling her 'Hermy.' Can you say that? _Hermy._"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Harry, while Teddy's hair and eyes darkened.

"That's incredible," said Hermione, inspecting his hair. "You like to mimic people, I see."

"No, _you_ like to..." Teddy's sentence dimmed down and he paused to think. He then gave Ron one glance, and scrunched his face in concentration. After a second, he'd not only copied Ron's bloodred hair and murky blue eyes, but his shadowed and clammy post-transformation appearance.

"_Bloody—_"

"Language, Ron," said Hermione quickly. Ron widened his eyes and covered his mouth. "Honestly, you hadn't even said two words to him."

"Guess you had a point, Harry," said Ron.

"Ginny?" said Teddy suddenly, looking around.

"Oh, Ginny's practicing Quidditch," said Harry. "On her broom," he clarified, eliciting a wince from Teddy; 'broom' was Teddy's least favorite word.

"Why is she practicing at night, anyway?" asked Hermione.

"Quidditch teams often practice in the worst conditions," said Ron airily. "In the dark, in the rain, and so on—so they'll have an edge on normal days."

Andromeda and Clarinda arrived with the tea trays and placed them on the coffee table, keeping an eye on Teddy. Andromeda grabbed the one cup that was filled with juice and handed it to Teddy before he had the chance to make a grab for it and knock everything over.

"Speaking of Quidditch," said Ernie as everyone began sipping tea. "Isn't that Oliver Wood on that magazine?"

"What?" Harry glanced down at one of the magazines on the table. Oliver was staring back at him with a bright smile. "Merlin, it is!"

"Oh, it's Witch Weekly," said Andromeda as Harry inspected the magazine. "That's the winner of their Most Charming Smile award."

"Finally they gave it to someone who isn't an idiot," said Ron.

"He's cute!" observed Clarinda. "Let me see. He was Quidditch Captain at Hogwarts, right?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "He plays reserve Keeper for Puddlemere United, and the Scottish National Team. He taught me how to play."

"Oh," said Clarinda. "Is it true he cared more about Quidditch than the safety of the students? That's what it says in Rita's book..."

"I'm not sure," said Harry. "He's a bit of a fanatic, but he's a great friend."

"Barking mad, if you ask me," said Ron. "That's almost as bad as caring more about getting expelled than dying."

"What, I—" Hermione began, but she faltered at Ron's smirk. "I was young."

"What was it you said?" Harry laughed. Teddy giggled as well, to mirror him. "'I'll drink from the toilet like a dog before aiding and abetting your rulebreaking!'"

"Not quite..."

"Yet you remained friends with this pair of rogues to this day?" asked Andromeda.

"That was before we were friends," said Hermione. "Suffice it to say these two taught me that rulebreaking isn't so bad."

A few moments went by, where they quietly sipped tea and Teddy nearly fumbled his juice no less than three times. Then, suddenly, Hermione sat upright with a start and began rummaging through her black beaded bag.

"We've brought some gifts for Teddy," she explained. "I'd nearly forgotten."

Hermione withdrew a small sweater from her bag. It was turquoise to match Teddy's usual hair color, and had a big purple T at its center. "Molly knitted this."

"Oh, that woman," said Andromeda faintly, her eyes sparkling a bit.

"Mum says if you ever need a break, she'd be glad to watch Teddy," said Ron. Andromeda smiled warmly.

"I'll take her up on that," she said. "I'll owl her."

"Noooo!" whined Teddy as Harry pulled the sweater over his head. Hermione smirked at his resemblance to Ron.

"Fits nicely," said Harry.

"Er—I've also brought this," said Hermione, withdrawing a small black bicyclist's helmet. "No offense..."

"None taken," said Andromeda.

"Is that a piano?" asked Ernie. "May I?"

"Please," said Andromeda. "I don't know how to play. It belonged to my husband."

Ernie walked across the room sat down on a small bench in front of the polished black piano in the corner.

"Ooh, how about God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs?" said Clarinda.

"No requests," said Ernie. He began playing a slow melody as Clarinda huffed.

"Can you play any instruments?" she asked, to Ron.

"No, not really," he said. "Don't you already know that, though? You've read Rita's books, yeah?"

"You aren't really featured very much in those books," said Hermione. "It's mainly Harry."

"Don't you ever get tired of being in his shadow?" asked Clarinda.

Ron merely shrugged, but caught an inquisitive expression on Harry's face that made him consider the question.

"Sometimes, but I was there all those times we faced danger, and I wasn't hiding behind Harry or anything—as long as spiders weren't involved, that is. Besides, the reality of it—oops, careful with that juice, Teddy—the reality is that all that attention Harry gets is just annoying."

"You don't know what I'd give for it to be 'Ron Weasley and the Stupid Interview with Rita Skeeter,'" said Harry.

"Why don't you write your own book, then?" asked Andromeda. "You could give everyone the real story, and they'd see who you really are."

"And bring more attention unto myself? No thank you," replied Harry. "Besides, I've got enough on my plate as it is."

"Just have Hermione do it," said Clarinda.

"Good idea," said Ron as Hermione was busy helping the thrashing Teddy out of his sweater. "So, which house d'you reckon Teddy will end up in?"

"Gryffindor, of course!" said Harry.

"Or Hufflepuff," added Ernie from across the room, still playing an elegant tune. "Those are the two you want to aim for."

"Right, of course," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "Just so long as he's not in Slytherin."

"I was in Slytherin," said Andromeda shortly.

"Wuh—well..." Ron gulped. Teddy began sniggering. "Oh, _that_ Slytherin? I meant—just a mix-up, really."

"I'm predicting Hufflepuff," said Hermione. "He's more like his mother, it seems."

"Are you implying that Hufflepuffs are clumsy?" said Ernie.

"Oh, the lot of you are just upset that you weren't in Gryffindor!" said Harry.

"I'll have you know Gryffindor has the highest expulsion rate," shot Ernie.

"Yeah, well, that's because we're just too cool for school," said Harry, beaming triumphantly despite the slew of sniggering that followed.

"Huffapuff!" said Teddy suddenly.

"No!" gasped Harry as Ernie beamed. "Gryffindor! Come on, say it."

"Umm..."

* * *

The sun was just rising over the London skyline, shooting rays of light through the windows of George Weasley's flat. George's living room was reeling from the Halloween party held on the previous night: empty Butterbeer bottles lay discarded on the wooden floor, the rug was clouded by a partially-cleaned vomit stain from when Lee Jordan attempted a trick that involved consuming and regurgitating a live goldfish, and the coffee table was cluttered with the few remaining morsels of pizza and pumpkin pie that had survived Ron's presence.

The door of Neville's room swung open, eliciting a loud clanging of the butterbeer bottles on the floor. Neville ran out into the living room in his pyjamas, clutching his wand. He jogged across the room, hopping over the snoozing Lee Jordan who was sprawled out on the floor, and hurried down the hall.

He grabbed the brass handle of George's door and pushed it open, ignoring the gleaming red _X_ carved in it, and entered the room. George's room was similarly chaotic, though it had been that way since long before the Halloween party. Apart from odd potions ingredients and joke shop experiments, George's room was plain, with white walls, a big brown dresser, and a king-size bed with taupe sheets. The only bit of decoration in sight was a shimmering gold-plated plaque on the wall above George's bed, which held Fred Weasley's wand.

"George!" exclaimed Neville. George's eyes opened. "You won't believe..."

Neville faltered as he realized George was not alone in his bed. Beside George, who had sat up and was rubbing his eyes and yawning, a black head of hair could be seen protruding from a tangle of blankets. George reached for the blanket cocoon and attempted to pull a portion of the covers over himself, but they were quickly yanked away again.

Neville cleared his throat; George hadn't yet acknowledged his presence, and was mumbling drowsily. George groped around at his bedside table for his wand, knocking an empty bottle of Ogden's firewhiskey onto the floor. George recoiled and covered his ears when it shattered loudly, then reached back to retrieve his wand. He prodded the tip to his jaw and mumbled an incomprehensible incantation, sending an icy breeze wafting through the room, which appeared to have brought him to his senses.

"Yeah, Nev?" said George. "I'm sure I left an _X_ on the door, mate..."

"Sorry," said Neville. "I was too excited."

"Why's that?"

"It's great, but I don't know if I should do it now."

"One moment," said George. He patted the bundle of blankets beside him. "Wake up."

The blankets stirred, but remained silent.

"Rise and shine," murmured George, prodding the lump repeatedly with increasing force. "Come on, Yue."

The covers finally dispersed to reveal a young woman in an oversized white shirt. She was Asian, with light skin, full lips, and short, messy black hair that reminded Neville of Harry. She sat up in the bed, yawning and stretching, before looking around at Neville.

"H-Hello," said Neville, gulping. "I'm Neville."

She merely fixed Neville with an inquisitive stare.

"Neville," said George, pointing at Neville. He then looked at Neville and gestured to the girl. "Yue."

"Nevo," said Yue, smiling. "Hi."

"Hi," said Neville, his cheeks growing pink as he grinned dumbly. "I'm Neville."

The girl nodded again.

"Yeah, I know, she's adorable," said George with a smirk. "Now why'd you barge in here?"

"Oh!" Neville held his wand up. "I just cast a Patronus!"

"What?" George perked up. "A full one?"

"Yeah. I had a dream about Dementors, and when I woke up, there he was—there _it_ was, I should say."

"It?"

"I'd show you, but Yue is a Muggle..."

"She's not some random Muggle plucked off the street, Neville. She's got a witch in the family—her aunt, I think, she drew me a picture explaining it—and she's been given clearance through official channels to be here under my supervision. Now show me why you woke me up."

Neville cleared his throat, then brandished his wand and said "_Expecto Patronum!_"

A flash of heavenly white light shot from Neville's wand and a ghostly figure emerged from the bright glow. It was a long, gleaming silver snake, that slithered through the air and encircled the group as Yue squealed in excitement and applauded. George squinted to make out the exact figure of the snake, and found that it wasn't a snake at all, but a slender sunflower. The head of the flower was swiveling back and forth, inspecting various parts of the room like a great big eye, while its stem slithered behind it.

"A plant?" said George. "Should have known!"

"I didn't know it was possible either," said Neville as he directed his Patronus around the room until it fizzled and vanished.

"But why can you cast one now and not before?" asked George as he climbed out of his bed. "What memory have you concentrated on? Which—_oh._ Might it be a certain _sweet goodbye_ you're focusing on?"

Neville nodded, grinning.

"How silly. All you needed was a good humping!"

"Oh, shut up," said Neville, his cheeks reddening more. "Sorry about bursting in like this. I just haven't been able to before, you know."

"It's okay," said George.

George, Neville, and Yue exited George's room and began walking down the hall. When they passed the kitchen, George turned around and addressed the young woman.

"Hey, make us some food, won't you?" he said. She stared blankly. "I think we have eggs."

"Why don't you do it?" asked Neville.

"I'm no good at cooking, and neither are you," said George. "So unless you want to wake Lee, we'll have to ask her."

"Is she good?"

"No idea." George turned to her and began lengthening his vowels as he spoke: _"Maake mee some foood!_"

She put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow.

"Food! For eating!" George pantomimed eating, then pointed to the kitchen. "You make it!"

She narrowed her eyes, but complied, and stepped into the kitchen in search of ingredients. George smiled triumphantly and walked towards the living room. Something by the window caught George's eye, and Neville turned to see a thin gray screech owl perched on the ledge outside, peering into the room, clutching a plain white envelope with a red Ministry of Magic seal in its beak.

"Hermes?" said George as he walked over to the window and opened it. Hermes dropped the envelope into George's hand and promptly flew away.

"Uh-oh," said George as he opened the envelope and examined the slip of parchment within. "This stationery looks official. Yep, Ministry of Magic."

"What've you done this time?" asked Neville.

"Merlin's socks!" George's jaw dropped. "The Bandits set a Portable Swamp off in the Ravenclaw Common Room. I'm under suspicion as an accomplice—that's brilliant!"

"Why would they do that?" wondered Neville.

"For Halloween, I guess. They did ask for some Jackolate." George grinned. "I love those little bludgers. They're keeping the dream alive down there."

"But won't you get in trouble?"

"I didn't sell them the Portable Swamp." George shrugged. "Lee, did you?"

"Nope," grumbled the half-awake Lee into the couch. "Hey, is that bacon I smell?"

"I'll check," said George, his eyes still on the Ministry letter as he walked over to the kitchen. "No, it's sausage. With eggs and hashbrowns. What a woman!"

"I'm stealing your girlfriend," mumbled Lee as he sat up. "Sorry, mate, but it's happening."

"There's no legal way you could pull that off," scoffed George. "Love potions and the Imperius Curse will both net you jail time.."

"I'm sure with a few cups of Firewhiskey it'd be manageable," said Lee with a grin as he checked his watch. "Oops, it's Potterwatch soon, actually. The birdnapping will have to wait."

"More food for me, then," replied George. "Might want to report on the Bandits' Halloween mischief at Hogwarts. But don't mention them by name, a'course. Also, let's not forget that the chief of the commission in charge of investigating goblin activities during Voldemort's uprising has stepped down—we're being pushed around by those pointy-eared fuckers."

"Enough politics, I've only just woken up," said Lee, rubbing his forehead.

"Oh, and Neville has cast his first Patronus—thanks to his recollections of that shagging Luna gave him."

"Shut up," said Neville.

Lee patted Neville on the shoulder and briskly exited the flat. George came walking into the hallway, carrying two plates of eggs, hashbrowns, and sausage. He approached the coffee table at the center of the room and set the food down, then sat down on the couch across from Neville's armchair. Yue followed with her own plate and sat next to George, then began handing out knives and forks.

"Thinking of an innocent reply," said George through a mouthful of potatos. "I'm treated like royalty down at the Ministry, but Kingsley won't stand for this sort of stuff. The man's got a sense of humor, but I'd rather not upset him, you know?"

"Yeah." Neville took a bite of sausage, then smiled to Yue. "Hey, this isn't bad."

"She understands thumbs up," said George distractedly. Neville proceeded to give her a thumbs-up signal, inciting a bright smile from the foreign girl.

"Doesn't the language barrier ever get annoying?" said Neville.

"Obviously." George grinned. "Especially when asking for—er—favors. I'd rather not pantomime half the stuff I want her to do. You understand."

"But it won't last, will it?" said Neville. "No offense, but that seems like a big thing to overcome."

"Nah, I don't expect it to." George shrugged as Yue watched them curiously. "It's too weird. She tried teaching me some of her language, but it was too difficult."

"Then why continue it?" said Neville. "Just because she's cute?"

"I feared you'd ask." George sighed. "Want to know a secret, Nev?"

"Yes."

"I have the same problem you had: I can't cast a Patronus. Not anymore."

"Why not?"

"Ever since Fred's death ... I know, I'm a good actor. People think I'm eating sunshine and pissing joy, but it still hurts." George rocked back and forth slightly, his lips twitching. A bit of food fell from Neville's open mouth as he froze. "I can't muster up the modicum of joy required to conjure one, I suppose."

"I don't know what to say." Neville gulped. "You can do great magic, just look at all the joke shop products ... So, if you encounter a Dementor?"

"I'd be out one soul," replied George. "That spell doesn't care how skilled you are. Even Hermione had trouble with it, though she can probably do it now."

"Eat up, Neville," he continued. Neville slackly began eating again."Don't misunderstand, now—I am great. I can do things that can't be imitated. I can make you smell colors and see sounds."

Neville nodded idly.

"It scares me, this power. Think of what I could create... what I could destroy... But I'd give it all up to have him back. I'd live as a Muggle. I'd give up my ear if it meant seeing him again."

Though Yue couldn't understand what George was saying, she appeared to have understood the dark turn of the conversation, as she shrunk into her seat nervously.

"Don't think like that," said Neville weakly.

"It's not all bad," reasoned George. "I have fun, especially with those funny little Battle-Axe blighters running around causing all sorts of havoc. That's why I've been seeing a Muggle. She doesn't know who I am. She doesn't look at me like you're looking at me right now. Stop that, by the way."

Neville looked down at his plate. "Is that why you're doing all these projects, too? To keep your mind off of it?"

"Very wise," replied George. He offered a small smile. "Actually, I have another in the works."

George stood and walked back to his room. Neville could hear him opening and closing the drawers of his dresser.

"Made some new contacts at the German Ministry," said George when he returned holding a large roll of parchment. "Top blokes over there. Real pioneers. We've built a relationship founded on mutual distrust and it's working out nicely. Funny accents, too, got to love that. Here, these are the schematics."

Neville accepted the scroll from George and flattened it out over the coffee table after Yue had bused their cleaned plates back to the kitchen. Sketched onto the page were the schematics for a massive wooden pirate ship, with three sets of large, feathery wings protruding from its hull. Yue widened her eyes and inspected the drawings eagerly when she returned.

"She loves magic," George explained. "It's an airship."

"Wicked," said Neville, staring at the drawings. "And it'll be able to fly?"

"Yes, that would be the function of an airship. It'll take a long time to complete the research and spellwork." George pointed at several calculations scrawled on the parchment. "Hovering charms are tricky, see. I'm estimating six-to-eight years before it's up and running."

"Doesn't your dad know how to make things fly?"

"Yes, but this is a different operation," said George. "Dad's quite good at Charms, but I'd rather not make him an accomplice. He'll be the first suspect when Mum finds out."

"Yeah." Neville grinned. "What're you going to call it?"

"The Forge."

"And Kingsley's fine with it? Seems much worse than magical carpets, and those are illegal."

"Haven't asked him yet, but he'll find out... probably once I'm flying over London."


	14. Flying with the Cannons

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long. I just procrastinated. I have no excuse.

* * *

"Miss?" croaked a deep and gravely voice. "Breakfast is ready, Miss."

Hermione Granger awoke to the grumble of Kreacher the House-Elf's voice after he began to gently prod her shoulder. She opened her eyes and sat up, then looked to her side. There was nothing beside her but a ruffled dent in the sheets and several splotches of blood; Ron had already gotten up. Kreacher offered Hermione a small bow, then withdrew an old bristle brush and kneeled down to clean the crusted trail of blood that led from the bed to Ron's unkempt dresser.

"That's all right, Kreacher, I'll clean it," said Hermione. Kreacher sighed in disappointment and stowed his brush back in his white pillowcase. Hermione covered her mouth to yawn, then continued, "Is Ron all right?"

"Master Ronald is playing Wizard's Chess with Master Harry in the sitting room," said Kreacher. "_Kreacher's Wolfsbane was again a success._"

"No surprise there; you do a fine job," said Hermione with an encouraging nod. A cheerful smile split Kreacher's wrinkled face.

As Kreacher exited the room in a merry skip, Hermione swung her legs over the side of the bed and retrieved her wand from the bedside table, then began siphoning blood from the sheets and floor. She flicked her wand at the window and the thick black curtains slid apart, flooding the room with dim white light from the foggy skies outside. With another swish, Hermione magicked the drawers of Ron's dresser shut and absorbed the blood from its iron handles.

After going through her daily routine, which involved several dental procedures, both Muggle and magic, Hermione began getting dressed. Soon, the scent of bacon came wafting through the hallway from the kitchen below, and Hermione hastened her morning ritual eagerly. Before long, she was shuffling down the stairs to the hallway below, which was faintly illuminated by rows of gas lamps high on its cardinal-colored walls.

Upon reaching the first floor, Hermione spotted Harry and Ron sitting at the table by the window. They were engaged in a game of Wizard's Chess on a new chessboard Hermione didn't recognize, their cleaned plates discarded in a stack on the side of the table. Harry's army was comprised of various animated Magical Creatures: Glowing Fire Crab pawns, chattering Acromantula rooks, skeletal Thestral bishops, proud Hippogriff Knights, a fierce Dragon queen, and a heavenly-bright Unicorn king.

By comparison, Ron's force was much smaller in stature, though greater in number as more of Harry's pieces had been taken. His pawns were measly Faeries, his rooks scurrying Nifflers, his bishops mere Hinkypunks, his knights miniature figurines of the chomping Monster Book of Monsters, his queen a vibrant phoenix, and his king a small baby troll, with a tiny wooden club, a little brown loincloth, and one tooth protruding between its lips.

Hermione approached the boys, who were staring each other down with determined looks. Ron grinned, exposing slimy, darkened teeth, and instructed his Niffler rook to take a square occupied by Harry's Dragon queen. The Niffler was unable to dent the larger stone beast, so the Dragon obediently proceeded to rip its own head off and walked off the board to the pile of Harry's fallen soldiers.

"Where'd you get this?" asked Hermione. Harry and Ron started, apparently unaware of her presence.

"It was sent by a secret admirer," said Harry.

He pointed to a note on the coffee table beside them. There lay an unfolded page of parchment, on which a moving photograph of Harry's face could be seen below the caption _UNDESIRABLE NO. 1_, with a lipstick mark over his cheek from where someone had kissed the page.

"Is that why you've got all the big, strong pieces?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah." Harry sighed. "A lot of good it's done me, though. At least if I had taken the smaller pieces it wouldn't be so embarrassing if I lost."

"_When_ you lost," corrected Ron. "There's food in the kitchen, by the way, Hermione."

"Where's Ginny?"

"Dean's house," growled Harry. "The portrait's done. He insisted that it be no charge, but I paid him anyway."

"You showed him, mate," said Sirius from his portrait. "That'll be the last time he crosses you."

Harry huffed.

"Oh, good morning, Sirius," said Hermione. Sirius waved back to her from his portrait with noticeable jollity from the prospect of a painted companion.

Hermione left to retrieve breakfast, and, carrying a plate of pancakes and bacon, returned in time to see Harry's inevitable defeat. They repaired the broken chess pieces and stowed the set on a shelf in the corner of the room, then sat down in bloodred armchairs on either side of the couch upon which Hermione sat.

"I've been thinking," began Hermione after she'd finished her last bite of pancakes.

"Big shocker there," quipped Ron. Hermione pressed on without hesitation.

"That our only lead on this Moja case is the Inferi attacks."

"There were no Inferi," said Harry with a hint of exasperation. "Do you realize how unlikely -"

"Do _you_ realize how unlikely it is that an Inferi attack is reported just one town over from that mansion, which, as you said, reeks of dead animals?" shot Hermione. "We should at least ask Mundungus if any of his lot have been faking Inferi attacks lately."

"Then you ask him," said Harry. "He's in Azkaban, and I'm not going out there just for that."

"Azkaban?" Hermione sighed. "What's he done this time?"

"Possession of stolen cauldrons or something," said Ron.

"It's not meant to be such a bad place anymore," said Hermione. "Of course, it's still got a high concentration of criminals, and there are new guards, and it is out at sea..."

"If we had more to go on, we'd be there," said Harry. "It's Ginny's first game today, anyway."

"Not sure why you're so eager to see her lose," said Ron.

"She's going up against the Chudley Cannons," explained Harry at the sight of Hermione's shocked look.

"Shouldn't she win, then?" said Hermione. Ron glanced at her. "Not that the Cannons aren't good! But, the Harpies are meant to be quite formidable this year, aren't they?"

"Cannons signed a new player," replied Ron. "Homer McClain. Cost them so much they had to axe most of their reserves."

"Oh, well, it won't take all day, anyway," argued Hermione. "We'll just nip in and -"

"Not today," said Ron. "I'm a bit exhausted at the moment..."

"Oh, of course," said Hermione in a small voice. "Harry?"

"Er - I've got to nurse Ron," said Harry. "He needs me here."

"I think he prefers my nursing," scoffed Hermione.

"Hey, I like the sound of that." Ron waggled his eyebrows.

There was a metallic clicking noise emanating from the hallway as the many locks of the front door came undone and it could be heard opening. Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched as Ginny stepped into the hallway carrying a large brown portrait. She smiled to the group and turned it over, displaying a detailed painting of a young woman with long blonde hair and a bright smile. Sirius grinned devilishly: she was gifted in all of Sirius's favorite areas.

Ginny strode across the room and hoisted the portrait on the wall beside that of Sirius, and the empty portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. Sirius immediately stepped out of his frame and into hers, and began talking to her. She seemed pleasurably flustered by his wicked grin.

"Dean's got skills," said Harry as he observed the interactions of the two paintings. "And so does Sirius..."

"What's her name?" asked Ron.

"Marla the Muse," said Ginny.

"She looks familiar," said Harry. "Is she also at Hogwarts?"

"I don't think so. Dean painted it using a picture of Seamus's mother."

"Ha!" Ron sniggered. "We'll have to hang a tapestry over her if Seamus ever stops by."

"When's the game?" asked Hermione.

"In the evening. Why?"

"I'm going to Azkaban to ask Mundungus about those Inferi attacks. Join me?"

"Sure." Ginny shrugged. "I've never been, so it might be interesting."

"Right then," Hermione glanced at Harry and Ron. "Last chance to come along..."

"Nah, I'll sit this one out," said Harry. Ron nodded in agreement.

"You know, Ron's got an excuse. You're just lazy." Hermione stuck her nose up, turned her back on them, and walked towards the front door.

* * *

With a faint _*pop*_, Hermione Granger appeared in a patch of grass on the shore of an island. She looked left and right and saw that she'd materialized before a vast construct of grimy stone steps that led to a towering building. Azkaban Prison stood nearly as tall as Hogwarts castle, but was a solid triangular prism with no turrets or windows. Surrounding the island was nothing but pale blue sea and clouded sky as far as the eye could see.

After a moment, a loud _*crack*_ sounded through the island and Ginny Weasley appeared beside Hermione, her vibrant crimson hair whipping wildly in the wind. Her immediate reaction was identical to Hermione's: she stared up at the tall prison with her mouth open in awe. She turned to Hermione and gestured towards the building. Hermione nodded and the two witches set off up the wide stairs.

"So you've arranged the visit?" asked Ginny.

"Yes," replied Hermione. "It usually takes more time, but Ministry workers have special privileges."

"Of course," said Ginny as they arrived at the front gate and peered inside.

Through the heavy iron grid, Hermione and Ginny saw a long hall that had rows of bolted doors on either side. The first thing they noticed was a massive figure walking down the hall; a Mountain Troll, standing twelve feet tall with olive green skin, a big belly, and long arms, was patrolling the corridor, quaking the ground with its stomps, huffing menacingly and dragging its heavy wooden club. At the end of the hall, there was a solid wall of rippling golden flames that rose to the ceiling. The fire shone so intensely that it rendered the troll a large black silhouette until the troll disappeared into it.

To the left of the front gate was a small security booth in which a gray-robed guard sat perusing _The Daily Prophet_ and sipping coffee from a plain white mug. In the corner of the booth, a slumbering Siberian Husky was curled in a black-and-white ball.

Hermione, now pinching her nose to block the remnant stench of the troll, knocked on the iron gate a few times. The gray-robed security wizard did not respond. After Hermione knocked harder, to no avail, Ginny drew her wand and peeked it through one of the gaps in the gate, then fired red sparks into the hall. The guard finally looked up from his paper and spotted the visitors. He grabbed his wand from his desk and flourished it in the direction of the two witches; the gate slid open by sinking down into the floor.

Hermione and Ginny entered the prison and approached the prison guard's desk. The array of Sneakoscopes, secrecy sensors, and other magical alarms scattered over the desk remained inactive. The prison guard was middle-aged and tall, with short graying hair, scruffy stubble on his chin, and a long, pointed witches' hat. His jaw occasionally shifted as if he were chewing gum.

"Business?" grumbled the man.

"We're here to visit Mundungus Fletcher," replied Hermione in an official tone. "I'm from the Ministry."

"What? Speak up!"

"_We're - visiting - Mundungus - Fletcher!_" shouted Ginny.

"Oh, right, right, should've said so..." The man slid a small silver box that looked like a pencil sharpener to the end of his desk. "Wands go in here."

Hermione gently inserted her wand into the hole. There were several clicks and taps as the device began working, then, with a puff of smoke, the device spat a small slip of parchment out onto the desk. The guard grabbed the parchment and placed it in one of his desk drawers. Ginny inserted her wand afterward with the same result.

The guard slid a drawer of his desk open, eliciting a sound similar to the rattling of a crate of bottles. He withdrew a basic glass phial from the drawer and placed it before Hermione and Ginny.

"Drink that," he said. "Both of you."

Hermione glanced down the hall to the wall of flames and realized that it was an obstacle similar to one she faced in her first year at Hogwarts, where she had to solve a riddle to find the right potion that would allow her to pass through the flames unharmed. Hermione wondered if the troll had taken potion as well, or if it was simply too thick-skinned to be damaged. Hermione nodded to Ginny and took the phial in her hand. She took one sip and shivered, as the effect of the potion was similar to submerging yourself in icewater, then handed the rest to Ginny, who did the same.

The guard reached into another drawer of his desk and placed four small rubber pellets in front of the two witches.

"For your ears," explained the guard.

Hermione and Ginny shared a confused look, but eventually placed the earplugs into their ears. The guard muttered something inaudible to the sleeping dog behind him; the dog begrudgingly rose to his feet and slackly walked over to his bowl in the corner, which was filled with the same potion. One sip of the icy brew invigorated him, and he quickly jogged out into the hall and past the flames. The security wizard pointed after the dog, and Hermione supposed he was instructing them to follow it.

Hermione and Ginny set off on the husky's trail, following it around several corners and up two flights of stairs. Once they reached the cell blocks, Hermione and Ginny understood the purpose of the earplugs: Banshees, green-skinned and skeletal, with floor-length black hair and grimy black cloaks, sat in thick glass tanks, one for each floor, screaming their fatal cry at the slightest disturbance.

Prison guards passed by, offering the two witches brief greetings. Hermione noticed that they, along with the trolls and guard dogs, were also wearing earplugs. The prisoners in the dank cells that lined the cell blocks were not. As they followed the dog around a corner that led to a more heavily guarded block, they began to recognize the faces of their former enemies, the Death Eaters.

The twisted face of Antonin Dolohov could be seen under his mat of greasy black hair, pale as ever, covering his ears from the Banshee shrieks. Hermione watched Ginny's eyes narrow at the sight of them and observed her red-headed friend tightening her grip on her wand. Fortunately, the surviving Death Eaters were few, and their canine guide led them past the maximum security block swiftly.

They continued to a minimum security area that was farther removed from the wailing Banshees, and the guard dog finally stopped and sat in front of one of the prison cells. Hermione and Ginny approached the iron bars and peered into Mundungus's cell; Mundungus was sitting on the floor building a house of Muggle playing cards, occasionally casting a nervous glance at his cellmate, whom Hermione recognized as Griphook the Goblin.

"Dung!" said Ginny, leaning against the bars. "Oi!"

"What?" Mundungus looked up, then widened his eyes. "Ginny? What're you here for?"

"Hold on." Ginny removed her earplugs, and Hermione did the same. The scream of the Banshees was less intense on Mundungus's cell block. "We want to ask you something."

"Why would you want to pass me stuffing?" wondered Mundungus.

"ASK - YOU - SOMETHING!" repeated Ginny. "Bloody Merlin - Banshees are so inconvenient!"

Mundungus stood and walked to his cell door. The guard dog emitted a soft, rumbling growl.

"Am I bein' set free?" asked Mundungus before leaning in to listen.

"No," said Hermione. "We want information."

"Bugger that!" said Mundungus. "Tell them to free me! I didn't do nothin', so what if I had some hot cauldrons - I could have just found them..."

"We can't help you," said Ginny. "We want to ask you about your little Inferius disguise scam."

"I don't know nothin'."

"That's been apparent since day one," said Hermione, placing her hands on her hips. "Come clean. This is very important."

"How so?"

"There's been an Inferi attack, and we need to know if it was just an attempted robbery involving one of your mates."

"Me mates?" scoffed Mundungus. "Like they're clever enough to pull that off!"

"You weren't," reasoned Ginny.

"So you haven't heard anything about an Inferi heist?" added Hermione.

"Not a thing." Mundungus crossed his arms. "Not me, not no one I know's stupid enough to try that again. Did you two come all the way down here just for that?"

"It was worth a shot," said Ginny as Hermione gave her an apologetic smile.

"Oi, can't you get me out of this nightmare?" said Mundungus. "Pull some strings! We're both in the Order, aren't we?"

"You got Mad Eye killed!" growled Ginny.

"I didn't mean to!" Mundungus gripped the bars, his eyes wide with desperation. "Doesn't mean I'm not still in the Order! Gimme out!"

"Oi, Dung, clam up!" shouted a voice from a cell down the hall. "Sleepin' here!"

"YOU CLAM UP!" roared Mundungus. The guard dog gave a booming bark.

"Argh!" Ginny covered her ears. "Okay, everybody just clam - er - _shut up!_"

"Let's go, Ginny," sighed Hermione. "You've got a game to win."

* * *

"When's it going to start?" asked the round-faced Neville Longbottom, craning his head to get a better look at the Quidditch field below.

"Soon," replied Harry.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, George, and Arthur and Molly Weasley took their seats in the tall wooden stands that surrounded the vast and green Quidditch field. Each of them wore scarves of green with a logo in the shape of a yellow talon, and waved small Holyhead Harpies flags to show their support. Ron alone wore Cannons orange, which he brought from home, and carried a flag that had two black Cs instead of a yellow talon.

Their jollity was stunted in part by the cold November wind. The party of witches and wizards continuously hugged their chests and cupped their hands together over their mouths to blow hot breath over their shivering fists. George had offered to provide heat for the entire stadium, but was quickly forbidden by his cautious mother.

"Wonder if I could convince them to let me commentate," said George. "Is Potterwatch popular here?"

"Possibly," said Hermione. "Though I don't know if it's big enough to allow you to just waltz in and start running the show - though they might let Harry."

"No thanks," said Harry. "We've yet to be recognized. Don't spoil it."

"Harry Potter!" called a voice from behind the group.

"Ignore that," grumbled Harry.

The recognition continued: "Harry!"

"Do you see his scar?"

"Those must be the Weasleys."

"Can't believe I ever wanted your fame," said Ron with a wistful smile as he shook his head.

"I wouldn't mind it ... Think of the business it'd bring." George patted Harry on the shoulder. "Say, next time you defeat a Dark wizard, would you mind telling the Prophet 'Some of my equipment was purchased at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes at ninety-three, Diagon Alley?'"

"Will do," chuckled Harry.

"Oh, honestly," huffed Molly. "Arthur, have you got the Omnioculars?"

"Yes, they're here somewhere." Arthur began rummaging through his bag, then withdrew several pairs of shiny brass binoculars that had numerous knobs and dials. "Here, everybody take one. Careful, Neville!"

"It's fine." Neville strapped his Omnioculars around his neck tightly.

"I've bought Zonko's Joke Shop, by the way," mentioned George. "I've got Angie overseeing it. Clever girl, you know."

"Filch will love that," said Ron. "He had enough trouble with the Bandits as it was."

"Should you really be helping them cause more trouble?" said Hermione, her voice somewhat shrill.

"Yes," said Ron. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"You know what?" George waved his hand over his green Holyhead Harpies flag; it brightened into a violent orange. "Go Cannons."

"All right!" Ron grinned and clapped George's hand.

"Oh, no you don't," said Molly, drawing her wand. "You are going to support your sister."

"You can't make me," said Ron. "I support the Cannons. I don't care if my sister's on the other team - I don't even care if I'm on the other team!"

"Not today." Molly flicked her wand, flooding Ron's Cannons merchandise with a dark green color, then did the same to George's flag.

As Ron pouted, Neville looked at him curiously.

"Why do you support the Cannons anyway?"

"I don't know." Ron shrugged. "They wear orange and they're the underdogs, I guess ... Sort of like me."

"Nonsense," said Harry quickly, as he recalled Tom Riddle's Horcrux voicing Ron's deepest fears: _Second best, always, eternally overshadowed..._ "They're great, and so are you."

"Thanks, mate." Ron raised an eyebrow.

"True love," breathed George whimsically. "It's beautiful."

"_Shurrup._"

After everyone was settled, an energetic sort of young male voice echoed through the stadium from the many megaphones placed high on the stands: "Welcome, all, to Harpy Stadium! Today we're playing host to the Chudley Cannons of England - currently last in the league, of course - so let's hear it for the Cannons! First, Gorgovich!"

The audience groaned a deep BOO as an orange blur darted up from the ground and began circling the stadium. Ron offered as small an applause he could manage without his mother noticing.

"Fenwick!" another orange-robed Cannons player flew onto the field. "Jenkins! Wheeler! Sumner! Gudgeon! And the captain, McClain!"

Harry kept an eye on the new Cannons player, McClain, who he'd seen playing for Scotland at the Quidditch World Cup. He still had an air of confidence about himself as he flew upside-down over a sea of booing Harpies fans.

"And now, your Holyhead Harpies! Morgan!" The crowd roared its approval as Morgan shot into the air. "Baker! Bosco! Weasley!"

Harry, Hermione, Neville, and the Weasleys watched intently as Ginny gracefully soared into view. They rose to their feet, Ron included, and cheered raucously for Ginny as she swept through the crowd in search of her friends.

"Glen! Swift! And the captain, Gwenog Jones!"

The Harpies executed a V formation and flew in a circuit around the stands just over the heads of their howling fans, who were mostly female. Hermione scoffed when Gwenog Jones began blowing kisses to the audience.

"She's full of herself, isn't she?" said Hermione.

"Looking strong, Gwenog!" rang the cheery boy's voice. "Right then, there's the referee, Mister Kilbane."

A wizard in white robes walked onto the field carrying a large wiggling box. He set it down at the center of the field and kicked it open. The four Quidditch balls rose from the box: the large Quaffle, the two mean Bludgers, and the tiny Golden Snitch. The referee mounted his broom and followed the balls into the air. The two Quidditch teams formed a circle, with McClain and Jones at the center, engaged in a fierce staring contest.

At the sound of the referee's whistle, the players and Quidditch balls sprang into action. The Quaffle was taken by Gorgovich of the Cannons, whom the Bludgers began harassing immediately, and the Snitch disappeared into the stands.

"Gorgovich with the Quaffle," said the commentator. "Flying up the field now, closing in on the Harpies' Keeper, Glen - Nope! He's hit with a Bludger! Nice whack by Jones - Weasley with the Quaffle now!"

Ginny flew past her cheering friends, hugging the brown Quaffle to her chest with one curled arm.

"It's all up to Sumner now, Weasley's going to - no, she passes to Morgan - SCORE! HARPIES SCORE!"

Ron's groan was barely audible amidst the roar of the fans.

As the game pressed on, Harry concluded that the Cannons had three decent players: Gudgeon, the Seeker, who seemed a better flier than the Harpies' Seeker; Wheeler, the Beater, though he was outshined by Gwenog Jones; and McClain, the Chaser, who was constantly performing the duties of his teammates to compensate for their inadequacy.

The Harpies were a much stronger team, but didn't have as good a player as McClain. Ginny's place in the Harpies was that of the main scorer, and she was responsible for the majority of their points.

"That's seventy to fifty, Harpies' lead," reminded the voice in the megaphones. "McClain up the field again, looking tired - Lovely! He's struck with a Bludger by Jones - but he gets the Quaffle back! Tearing up the field now ... passes another Bludger ... Oh, well, Cannons score."

"_Homer! Homer!_" chanted Ron, but he faltered at the dirty looks from those around him. "I mean - _Weasley! Weasley!_"

"Baker's closing in on the Cannons' end, could be another score - No! It's intercepted by Gorgovich! Taking a page out of his captain's book, there - but no! He's dropped the Quaffle, the idiot - caught by Morgan - nope, it's stolen by Fenwick. Fenwick to McClain - back to Fenwick - to McClain again - back to McFenwick - er, I mean Fenwick...

"Pushing up the field ... Ouch! Gruesome Bludger by the lovely Gwenog Jones. Careful, Gwenog, they haven't got any reserves ... McClain takes possession, and he's already close enough to - SCORE! Tie game!"

"He sees the Snitch!" shouted Arthur, alarmed, as the Cannons Seeker broke into a dive. Arthur peered through his Omnioculars in search of the Snitch. "Yes, there it is!"

"Gudgeon chasing the Snitch now! Swift in pursuit! Here, you've got to watch the Chasers, whoever scores - _Oh, NO!_ McClain scores! Step it up, Glen!"

Ginny quickly took the Quaffle and darted towards the Cannons' goal; should Gudgeon catch the Snitch now, the Cannons would win. Gwenog Jones was desperately aiming Bludgers at Gudgeon, but the Cannons' players had surrounded him, shielding him with their bodies. Orange-robed players were falling left and right from Gwenog's Bludgers, and they'd left only McClain and their Keeper, Sumner, to guard the rings from the Harpies' Chasers. McGonagall was right; the Harpies needed a new Seeker, as their current Seeker, Swift, was unable to keep up.

"Weasley's closing in! Lucky she's got a Firebolt - passes to Morgan - Morgan to Baker - hurry up, ladies! Baker shoots! NO!"

Gudgeon dove off of his broom and snatched the fluttering golden ball from mid-air. There was a collective gasp from the crowd as he plummeted towards the ground, falling down to forty feet, to thirty, to twenty, until he landed on the grass with a sickening thud, still clutching the Snitch in his arm, which was now bent the wrong way.

"How extraordinary!" declared George brightly.

"Bloody hell!" breathed Ron, as everyone pressed up against the rail of the stands to watch the referee approach the fallen Cannons Seeker. "Well, at least he caught it..."

"Ron!" said Hermione. "He could be seriously hurt!"

"Gudgeon's caught the Snitch - Cannons win - but at what cost?" concluded the announcer.

The white-robed referee conjured a stretcher and lifted the limp Gudgeon onto it, then began wheeling him off the field as his fellow Cannons and several of the Harpies players quickly approached him, looking concerned. After he was wheeled out of sight, the audience began filing down the many sets of stairs and out of the stadium, chatting frantically about Gudgeon's catch. Harry, Hermione, Neville, and the Weasleys approached the Harpies' locker room and stood outside, awaiting Ginny.

"I do hope he's all right," said Hermione.

"Yeah," agreed Ron. "They don't have any reserves - if he gets hurt, how will they play?"

"Oh, honestly, Ron!" Hermione crossed her arms. "Is that all you care about!"

"Thought you'd have worked that out by now," said a voice from the door. Ginny was standing in the doorway, looking gloomy.

Molly immediately embraced her in a tight hug, and her friends patted her on the back consolingly.

"Tough break, yeah," said Ron. "If only you could have faced a worse team for your first game."

"There is no worse team!" said Ginny. "The Cannons are in last place!"

"That was before we got McClain," argued Ron. "Now they're on a roll, taking out all the high ranked teams."

"One win is not 'a roll,' Ron," said George with a smirk.

"It's fine, Ginny," said Arthur. "You were the best Harpy out there tonight."

"Indeed," agreed George. "Spanking good Chaser."

"It's the Seeker's fault, really," said Harry.

"No, don't blame her." Ginny frowned. "She's so nice."

"Not at catching the Snitch," said Ron, his face splitting into his crooked grin.

"Be nice," warned Molly. Ron's grin faded.

"It's okay, Ginny," said George. He offered Ginny a small brown candy. "Here, have a caramel."

"I don't want a caramel." Ginny turned her head away as George held it in front of her mouth.

"Have a bloody caramel," repeated George.

"She's too clever for that," said Harry. "What is that, a Ton-Tongue Toffee?"

"No." George frowned and popped the candy into his mouth. "It's a ten-gram caramel."

* * *

Ginny soon found herself sulking in a booth at the Leaky Cauldron, surrounded by her comforting friends Harry, Hermione, and Neville, her incessantly gloating brother, Ron, and their one-eared brother, George. Hannah Abbott came by with a big tray of Butterbeers and set them down on the table. Ginny feebly began sipping hers.

"Anything to eat?" Hannah asked.

"Yeah, some chips," said Ron.

"Napkins too, please," said Neville.

"All right." Hannah smiled pointedly at Neville before moving on to the next table.

"She's flirting with you, mate," said George. Neville shook his head. "I'm telling you, she is. She has been ever since you moved out here."

"I don't care." Neville crossed his arms.

"Might help if you just move on, Nev," said Ron. "Who knows when Luna will be back?"

"It can't be too long now," said Neville. "And I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, go on." George grabbed Neville by the shoulders and steered him out of the booth. "We're going to go chat her up."

"What? No!" Neville struggled, and George tightened his grip.

"He's a good friend," said Harry as George led Neville off in Hannah's direction. Ginny smiled.

"So how was Azkaban?" said Ron. "What's guarding it now?"

"Trolls, wizards, guard dogs..." listed Ginny. "Huskies. They were quite cute, but you're not allowed to pet them."

Harry and Ron shared a confused look.

"Worst of all were the Banshees," said Hermione. "About seven Banshees - one for each floor - locked in these glass cages that muffle their shriek."

"Not well enough," said Ginny, still hearing a quiet ringing in her ears.

"But the Banshee's cry is fatal!" said Harry, his eyes wide. "Like the Mandrakes!"

"I suppose if there's a breach they can thin the glass to knock everyone in the prison out," said Hermione. "Plus, Banshees aren't loyal to anyone, so they wouldn't join any Dark wizards like the Dementors. They just sort of scream all the time..."

"Bloody hell," said Ron. "So what'd Dung have to say? He confess?"

"He said none of his mates have done anything of the sort," said Ginny. "We should have brought Veritaserum, really."

"The whole thing was an utter waste of time," said Hermione. "Though I'm more confident now that the Inferi attack wasn't fake."

"Fine, I'll requisition to be placed on the case," said Harry. "I've already been there once."

"But then all of Teal Team Six will have to investigate it!" groaned Ron.

"Why don't you want to investigate it?" asked Ginny. "You're supposed to be an Auror."

"Doesn't seem worth it."

"I think you're just afraid of Inferi," said Harry.

"Wouldn't you be?" reasoned Ron.

"I was." Harry shrugged. "We know our Infernums now, it shouldn't be too hard if we come across an Inferius, which we probably won't."

"In any case, it warrants investigation," said Hermione. "They're the only known House-Elf employers in England that aren't on the register."

"Mission accomplished," said George as he returned to his seat. "Neville's got himself a date."

"Where is he now?" asked Harry.

"Oh, he's gone back to the flat. I have to go too, down to Zonko's. The Bandits have gone and lost the Marauder's Map to a Gryffindor called 'Con.'"

"Con Castle?" said Harry.

"I knew you shouldn't have given it to them," commented Ron.

"Apparently Con nicked it then jumped across the Grand Staircase to lose them, from the seventh floor down to a landing on the sixth floor on the other side. I like this kid already. Fred says it's the height of gossip over at Hogwarts - even more popular than Rita's books."

"Good," said Harry. "Those books don't deserve popularity."

"Well, I'd best be off," said George as Hannah arrived with the chips.

George grabbed a handful and stuffed them into his mouth, then offered Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny a muffled goodbye and disappeared with the faintest _*pop*._


	15. Death From Above II

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

* * *

As November pressed on, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was blanketed with a thick layer of snow that covered the rooftops of its many towers and turrets. The tips of the mountains in the distance were pure-white, similar to the clouded skies above. The Whomping Willow was shivering to shed its branches of the pearly specks of snow that were swirling in the wind. Above the snowcapped Forbidden Forest to the west of Hogwarts Castle, the outline of a majestic gray Hippogriff could be seen patrolling the woods for prey.

Professor McGonagall had bewitched a horde of snowmen scattered across the school grounds to throw snowballs at passersby at the request of the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. Scented purple fumes were streaming from the chimney of the Divination Tower, and swarms of red-robed Gryffindors were flying over the Quidditch Pitch, having booked it for an early practice.

Sherman Roque, Hufflepuff, was observing the scenery through one of the many narrow windows of the Hospital Wing with a wistful look as his fellow Hufflepuff second-years stood huddled around a nearby bed. The hospital bed was occupied by the tall, lanky, big-eared, buck-toothed Simon Beech, known by many as Munky, who was laying with his eyes closed and his blanket tucked over his chest, looking very grave.

At his bedside were two of his fellow Battle-Axe Bandits: Elena Summers, with her wavy auburn hair and puffy cheeks, and Adrian Starr, with his wild black hair and worn black boots. Elena stood nearest Munky, inspecting his scarcely bandaged hand, which had several red marks extending past the bandages and the stench of gasoline. Blackboot looked concerned, but remained at a safe distance from Munky's infected hand.

"Does it hurt, Simon?" asked Elena, biting her lower lip.

"Yeah," sighed Munky, sounding like he'd answered the question several times already. "What's Sprout thinking, letting us handle this stuff?"

"It's educational," said Elena. "It is!" she added, seeing her fellow Bandits' incredulous stares.

"How?" asked Blackboot.

"Didn't you pay attention in class? Oh, of course you didn't - It's a popular Potions ingredient, isn't it? It helps skin conditions."

"Helps? Look at my skin!" Munky raised his wounded hand. "It's like that time my brother put poison ivy in my gloves."

"It's like that, plus the smell of petrol," added Blackboot.

"Because it was undiluted," argued Elena. "Bubotuber pus isn't meant to go directly on your skin. It's got to be mixed with other ingredients."

"Still." Munky crossed his arms, then winced in pain and quickly put his hand back at his side.

"That's stupid." Elena placed her hands at her hips. "Lots of things have to be refined before use. You wouldn't eat raw meat, would you? Well, I suspect you would, Adrian, as you don't care what you put your mouth on," she added, shooting a scathing look at Blackboot.

"What's that supposed to mean?" wondered Blackboot. "That's like the fifth time - what the bloody hell are you on about?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm 'on about.'" Elena rounded on Blackboot as Munky sighed from his bed and made to cover his ears, but stopped himself before aggravating his injured hand.

"No, I don't." Blackboot looked past Elena to the silhouette of Roque, who was still gazing through the bright window. "Roque, do you have any idea what she's been talking about?"

Roque didn't respond.

"Anyway, I'll have to bring you your homework," continued Elena.

"I still have to do homework?"

"Yeah ... Shame, isn't it? George's Skiving Snackboxes would sell by the barrel if a bed in the Hospital Wing exempted you from homework."

"They're still selling out," said Blackboot.

"Yes, you'd know all about selling out, wouldn't you?" said Elena in false pleasant tone. Blackboot looked dumbstruck.

"Oi!" he finally said. "You're pushing it now."

"Keep quiet," said Munky. "Pomfrey'll be back any minute."

"She'll probably chuck us out either way," said Blackboot.

"Good, I'm tired of your arguing."

Elena and Blackboot shared a glance, then quickly looked away.

"I want to go to Hogsmeade," said Roque from the window. His three companions fell silent.

Through the window, Roque saw a parade of students clad in puffy jackets and heavy robes skipping off down the hill to Hogsmeade, engaged in merry chatter as they dodged the snowballs pitched at them by the nearby snowmen. Across the Covered Bridge, Roque spotted a peculiar sight: A gathering of various animals had converged at the Stone Circle, and appeared to be in conversation.

There was a big, bow-legged ginger cat with a flat face, a smaller brown cat with lamplike eyes, the head of a fat toad peeking out from a thick yardwork glove, a beefy black boarhound frolicking in the snow, and a tiny gray owl fluttering above them, so small it looked like a snowflake from Roque's point of view.

After a moment where nobody in the Hospital Wing spoke, Roque tore his eyes from the window and turned to face his fellow Bandits, looking determined.

"George is in Hogsmeade today," he said as he began pacing back and forth beside Munky's hospital bed. "He's bought Zonko's, remember? Wonder what he'll think if we show up - second-years in Hogsmeade - bet it hasn't been done since he was at Hogwarts."

"Nobody's going to argue about 'why,'" said Blackboot, his tone uneasy. Elena cleared her throat, but Blackboot ignored her and continued, "The question is 'how?'"

"We follow Con," said Roque simply. "He's not stupid - he knows Filch will be patrolling the passages - but he's got the Map. Anywhere he goes, we can be sure is unguarded."

"You could get the Map back," suggested Munky.

"We'll have to corner him once he exits the Hog's Head," said Elena.

"So, to Gryffindor Common Room, then? We can stop by for a croissant in the kitchens."

"No, I suspect he'll be acquiring the Ravenclaw badge by now," said Elena. "If he's to use the passage behind the mirror on the fourth floor, that is."

"We'll go by the Transfiguration Courtyard," said Roque. "If he doesn't show up, then he's taking the One-Eyed Witch tunnel."

"Good luck," mumbled Munky as Roque, Elena, and Blackboot jogged to the exit and disappeared into the walkway to the Clock Tower.

Much to Roque's displeasure, Elena and Blackboot maintained their bickering all the way through the Clock Tower, past the Boathouse walkway, beyond the Paved Courtyard, and through to the Transfiguration Courtyard. By the time they'd reached the courtyard and hidden behind a large statue of a snow-covered Pegasus, the increasingly confused Blackboot was still on the defensive.

"I still don't know what you're talking about!" he repeated. "Why don't you just tell me what's got your wand in a knot?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Just drop it!" urged Roque. "If Con comes along, we don't want to be spotted, do we?"

"Oh, all right, then." Elena shot Blackboot one more narrow-eyed glare.

"I wonder how he'll get the badge," said Blackboot.

"Probably from Timmy. Poor chap." Roque sighed. "Might be better to just take his badge and keep it, so he gets a new one."

"And if we're caught with Timmy's old badge?" said Elena. "Filch would skin us alive."

"Fair point."

As per Elena's prediction, the Gryffindor second-year Conrad Castle could soon be seen striding through the Transfiguration Courtyard, accompanied by a nervous-looking Ravenclaw with short black hair, pasty-white skin and circular glasses. The Bandits shrunk behind the white statue until Con and Timmy reached the end of the courtyard and stepped through a door that led to the Grand Staircase.

Roque, Blackboot, and Elena followed Con and Timmy up the shifting staircases, careful to remain out of Con's field of vision, and waited for Con to use Timmy's badge to open the secret passageway behind the mirror on the fourth floor. The Bandits watched as Con thanked Timmy then hurried into the tunnel, leaving Timmy behind.

Roque nodded to his two companions, then briskly scaled the stairs leading up to the mirror. Timmy widened his eyes upon spotting them and immediately tightened his grip on his badge.

"You!" he squeaked.

"Us," replied Roque. "We need you to help us through that mirror."

"Why should I help you? Con said you guys stole my badge! And you flooded the Common Room!"

"All in good fun," said Blackboot in an attempt at an innocent tone. "Really, Timmy, we returned your badge, didn't we?"

"You guys are going to get expelled!" said Timmy. "I don't want to go down with you! Leave me alone!"

"Expelled?" said Elena. "We haven't even had so much as a warning, except for that Hogsmeade incident!"

"Because they can't pin anything on you," argued Timmy. "When they do, you'll go down for the other stuff too."

"So then tell them we just stole your badge," said Roque.

Timmy stopped to consider the suggestion, then finally nodded and pressed his badge to the mirror.

"_Ostium Revelio,_" whispered Roque.

The mirror vanished, revealing a steep downward staircase illuminated by several rows of flickering torches. Roque gave Timmy a pat on the shoulder, then stepped through the mirror.

"Cheers," said Blackboot as he passed through the mirror, followed by Elena.

"Thank you, Timmy!" called Elena after they began their descent down the long staircase.

The Bandits continued through the dank tunnel that curled around the lake, under the hills to the east of Hogwarts, and ended at the hut behind Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. There was no sign of Con until they'd stepped out into Hogsmeade and spotted him stalking towards the Hog's Head pub. The Bandits huddled together behind Scrivenshaft's and began to devise a plan.

"We'll head him off here and take the Map by force," said Roque.

"Then we'll help ourselves to the Butterbeer and visit George," said Blackboot. "Sounds easy enough."

"When should we return to the castle?" asked Elena. "We should probably head back before -"

"_My my, what do we have here?_" growled a deep voice from behind the Bandits. "_Yes, yes, we are in trouble..._"

"Not again!" groaned Roque as he turned to face the voice.

It was George.

"Merlin's pants!" exclaimed Roque. George sniggered. "Don't scare us like that!"

"Been working on that Filch impression for a while," said George. "What are you lot up to? Hey, aren't you mere second-years?"

"Yes, we are," said Elena brightly. "But we came to Hogsmeade anyway."

"Who needs rules?" added Blackboot, looking very proud. "We snuck out here right under Filch's nose."

"I'm impressed," said George. He rubbed his chin in thought. "You're the first second-years to sneak into Hogsmeade since ... About thirty seconds ago. I saw a little Gryffindor walking out of this very path."

"We did it before him!" said Roque. "Earlier in the year."

"That doesn't count - Fred told me you guys got caught." George shook his head. "It's a shame. Oh, thought I could have a word about the project."

"Yeah? What of it?"

"Well, I haven't actually been in that tunnel since it collapsed. What's it like now?"

"There's a bunch of rubbish all scattered around and the ceiling's been blasted open," said Blackboot. "And there's a horse skeleton down there. Not sure how that happened."

"Right, well, Fred and I had nothing to do with - that thing was dead when we got there - nothing we could do, really..."

"Uh-huh..." Roque raised an eyebrow.

"That's about all I need from you," continued George.

"Is the shop up yet?" asked Elena, craning her head to see past George towards Zonko's Joke Shop, which was being reconstructed into a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes shop.

"No, not yet. I've got Lee, Verity, and Angelina working on it, so I should get back to Diagon Alley pretty soon here - don't want to leave Neville alone for too long ... but right now I'm off to visit Helinora."

"Yeah? How is she?" asked Roque. "Haven't seen her since ... The thingy."

"The funeral, you mean? It's okay, you can say it. Not sure how she's doing though - that's why I'm going to check on her." George suddenly frowned, then began counting the three Bandits, and said, "One, two, three ... Where's the funny-looking one?"

"Oh, he's in the Hospital Wing. He touched some raw Bubotuber pus in Herbology class."

"Oh, right. Nasty stuff, that." George gave a weak smile. "One time Fred bet me three Galleons I wouldn't pour some down my pants. Transfigured it into honey before I did, a'course, but it was still a bit sticky down there for a while - sorry, I digressed egregiously there - so, would any of you like to join me to meet Helinora?"

"Can't - we're waiting to ambush Con to get the Map back."

"Oh. Best of luck to you then," said George. "Proceed boldly, and with stealth!"

He offered the Bandits a quick salute, then turned and walked onto the snowy main road of Hogsmeade towards Grawp's cave.

"Brilliant, isn't he?" remarked Elena, looking after George with a wistful smile.

"He's not that great," said Blackboot quickly. Roque raised an eyebrow.

"Er - Let's hide," continued Blackboot.

The three Bandits hid behind Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop and awaited Con's return. Before long, the young Gryffindor showed up at the tunnel entrance, his nose buried in a large page of parchment, with a green duffel bag full of rattling bottles of Butterbeer slung over his shoulder.

"Now!" said Roque.

Roque, Elena, and Blackboot sprinted towards the distracted Gryffindor boy just as he reached the door. Con spotted Blackboot just in time to evade his tackle; Blackboot grabbed nothing but air and dove directly into a snowbank, disappearing into the white hill and leaving a human-shaped hole in the snow.

Con quickly folded the map and entered the hut behind Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, then shuffled down the stairs. Roque opened the hut's door in time to see the tip of Con's head sinking out of view as he shuffled down the stairs.

"Drat!" exclaimed Roque. "We'll never catch him without Munky!"

Roque hurried over to Elena, who was digging Blackboot out of the snowbank, her eyes wide with concern. Roque looked around the main road, his mind racing.

"He's sure to alert Filch," he said. "Filch will have blocked the path by the time we get back."

"We'll take the One-Eyed Witch, then," said Elena. "That way Con would be helping us."

"Filch has Mrs. Norris," said Blackboot. "She'll probably be stationed at one of the passages."

"Then we'll kick her or something!" snarled Elena. "Merlin knows I've wanted to since first year..."

"No..." An eager grin split Roque's face as he stared down the path George had taken. "I've got a better idea."

* * *

Across the hills to the east of Hogwarts school, on a snowy ridge that overlooked the Black Lake and contained the tunnel of the Fourth Floor Mirror passageway, a large creature was dashing over the snow. The creature consisted of the lower body of a horse, with four slender legs with knobby knees that ended in four galloping hooves, and the upper body of a young girl in a stark orange Chudley Cannons t-shirt, whose mane of cinammon-colored hair and swishing tail flowed in the wind.

Riding atop the young Centaur girl with his arms locked around her waist was Roque, the Bandit leader. He howled in excitement as Helinora leaped over an obstructive rock and landed with flawless balance. Roque's cheeks had gained a rosy hue as the cold wind hit his face at high speed, his black winter cloak flapping wildly behind him.

"Just up here!" said Roque. "Stop! Stop, I say! _Yield!_"

Helinora skidded to a halt just before a massive hole in the ground. Through the sunken void, the torchlit chamber of the passageway below was visible. Roque hopped off of the Centaur and immediately winced as he felt a throbbing pain in his lap from the ride. He drew his wand and duck-walked over to the hole, and peered down into the chamber.

"Shouldn't be too long now..." Roque stopped to listen as he heard rapid footsteps approaching. "Aha ... That'll be Con. You're very sly, but so am I..."

At first sight of Con Castle's red-lined Gryffindor robes, Roque took aim through the hole in the ceiling, and shouted "_Flipendo!_"

A brilliant flash of blue illuminated the walls of the chamber as a blast of energy shot down into the room from above, striking Con on the back. Con doubled over onto the ground at the center of the room, which was coated with snow that had passed through the open ceiling.

"What would subdue him?" wondered Roque as Con slowly rose to his feet, apparently having had the wind knocked from his lungs. "Oh, yes, I think ... _Rictusempra!_"

Just as Con stood, he was blasted with a white beam of light that moved quickly through the air like a dart. He promptly erupted in a fit of giggling and dropped to the ground, then began rolling on the floor, laughing. After a moment, Con had retrieved his own wand with a trembling hand, and was able to cure himself of the Tickling Hex.

Roque fixed his wand in Con's direction again, but just as Con stood to escape, a feminine voice echoed through the chamber: "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

Con's arms snapped to his sides as he went stiff and fell over like a big log. Elena and Blackboot stepped into view, panting heavily, and looked up through the ceiling at Roque. Roque gave them a thumbs up, and they began inspecting Con's body.

"I've found it!" said Elena, holding up the Marauder's Map.

"And look, the Butterbeer!" added Blackboot. "Oh, one's broken. Damn it all."

"It was foolish of you to come this way, Con!" said Roque. "Ignorant boy!"

"See that horse skeleton?" said Blackboot, turning Con over. "You're next!"

"Oh, don't be silly," said Elena as Con's eyes swiveled wildly in terror, the only part of him that was moving. "We just want our map back."

"Yeah, but cross us again, and you're next!" warned Blackboot spookily.

"You're not going to die," said Elena. "Don't worry."

"He doesn't have to know that!" snarled Blackboot. "Why'd you go telling him for?"

"Oh, yes, you love keeping people in the dark, don't you?" said Elena, with her signature arm-crossing. "Didn't tell any of us you were dating that - that Banshee, Donna Wessger - no, didn't say a word -"

"So that's what this is about?" growled Blackboot. "You think I'm not a loyal Bandit? I'm here, aren't I?"

"OI!" barked Roque. "Shut up down there!"

Roque stood and began considering a way to descend into the room, then noticed that Helinora was still at his side.

"Thanks for the help," he said.

"No problem." Helinora smiled. "When you consider the current position of Saturn, I'd have been foolish not to help you."

"Right ... I know you lot don't like giving rides to humans and all, so that was nice of you."

"I don't mind at all." Helinora looked up, directly into the sun, which was a bright spot amidst the white clouds. "Most Centaurs would agree, just as most humans scoff at the all-important Pluto."

"I see..."

"I like to use my abilities to help," continued Helinora.

"Well, thanks again." Roque returned the Centaur girl's smile and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Do you need the boy killed?" offered Helinora. She drew her bow and began loading an arrow into it.

"No!" shouted Roque. "No, thank you. We want him alive."

Helinora bade goodbye to Roque, then turned and galloped back in the direction of Grawp's cave. Roque carefully began his descent down the crag of frosty debris and into the passage below, which was made more difficult from the aching in his thighs from the ride.

"Blood and mustard!" Blackboot was chanting. "To Bandit victories!"

"Now you're just confusing him," scoffed Elena.

"Let's go, then," said Roque once he'd reached the floor.

The three Bandits hoisted Con up to their shoulders and carried him through the passageway like a log. With her free hand, Elena was checking the Marauder's Map and reporting the results: "Filch is near the One-Eyed Witch passageway ... Mrs. Norris is out by the Stone Circle ... Sean's in the Slytherin Common Room ... Dennis is at the Grand Staircase - no, scratch that, he's just gone into the Gryffindor Common Room. It's all clear."

Once they'd exited through the mirror on the fourth floor and entered the Grand Staircase, they unloaded Con by rather unceremoniously dropping him in front of the mirror, then trotted off towards the Hospital Wing with the green duffel bag full of Butterbeers to celebrate their re-acquisition of the Marauder's Map, while Blackboot sang "_Oh, don't let this magic die..._"


	16. Into the Mansion

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

* * *

The Auror's Office at the Ministry of Magic was in its usual state of casual chaos. Little off-white paper airplanes zipped over the grid of cubicles like darts, mountains of parchment peeked out over the Aurors' cubicle walls at varying heights depending on the workload of the cubicle's occupant, and the office buzzed with the chatter of Ministry employees and the bubbling of the coffee-filled cauldron. The windows of the office had been charmed to look as though the office was located at a beautiful blue sea floor; Magical Maintenance was of particularly good morale since their pay raise.

At the center of the maze of cubicles, Auror trainees had gathered before an old wizard in gray robes with a pronounced hunch and an overlarge witch hat, under which only his bulbous nose was visible, fidgeting as he spoke. He stood supported by a tall staff with a big wooden knot at the end beside a blackboard that was taller than himself. Occasionally, he would wave the wooden staff, magicking white letters onto the board for the trainees to read.

Among the crowd of trainees, Harry, Ron, Ernie, and Clarinda stood at the front of the group. Clarinda stood out with a noticeable lack of shadow under her eyes, which made her fellow trainees look exhausted by comparison. Ron's jaw was shifting as he attempted to free a wedged bit of corned beef from between his teeth with his tongue.

"These are the remaining squads," said the gray-robed man, brandishing his staff at the board, which now read: _RED TEAM 1, BLUISH-PURPLE TEAM 1, RED TEAM 6, TEAL TEAM 6._

"But Mr. Robards, what about Blue Five?" asked a witch from the back of the group.

"Two of Blue Five's members have gone for an early bath," replied Mr. Robards. "Just as well, as Red Team Six has lost two to spell damage. So, Blue Five and Red Six have merged. Teal Team Six remains the only squad with all its original members."

Ernie raised his chin smugly, and there was a murmur amidst the crowd of trainees, most of them rolling their eyes.

"All right, now we put your training to good use, lads," said Mr. Robards. "Your first assignments."

The aspiring Aurors perked up, staring intently at Mr. Robards and the chalkboard.

"Right, then... Red Team One, in my office then, move along." Mr. Robards limped into one of the many office doors of the Auror Headquarters.

The nameplate on Mr. Robards's door read _Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office_, and it was the only office that had a window on the door, through which Mr. Robards could be seen handing various documents and pictures to the members of Red Team One. The other Auror trainee squads gathered around the door to listen in.

"_Underage magic_?" scoffed a member of Red Team 1. "Isn't that a job for Magical Law Enforcement? We're Aurors!"

"You're trainees," corrected Mr. Robards. "The lowest of the low. Until you become full Aurors, you'll be worth less than Leprechaun gold."

There was a bit of grumbling from Red Team 1, but Mr. Robards appeared not to have heard.

After Red Team 1 exited Mr. Robards's office with exaggerated pouts, Bluish-Purple Team 1 were called in for a similar session. Mr. Robards pointed his wand to London on the map behind his desk, provided Bluish-Purple Team 1 with a similar stack of papers and notes and sent them on their way.

"Red Six," said Mr. Robards as he popped his head out of his office.

The two original members of Red Team 6 walked in immediately, and the other two, who had previously belonged to Blue Team 5, followed shortly after Clarinda nudged one of them in the elbow and nodded towards the door. Once they had sat down in front of Mr. Robards's desk, he handed them a picture of a bearded man with puffy cheeks and big, shiny black eyes.

"Rubeus Hagrid," Harry and Ron heard Mr. Robards say. Harry gulped and shared a nervous look with Ron as Mr. Robards provided Red Team 6 with another picture that showed several Hogsmeade townsfolk fleeing from a giant scorpion.

"Hagrid must have bred that thing illegally," said Ernie.

"Why couldn't we have gotten that one?" mumbled Ron.

"We'll have to owl him about this," whispered Harry.

Teal Team 6 was called next. Harry, Ron, Ernie, and Clarinda walked in and sat down in front of Mr. Robards's desk.

"I'm placing you on the Moja case, as per your request." Mr. Robards levitated a small stack of papers into Harry's hands. "Curious, isn't it? An odd string of events, indeed. You've been given a full raid warrant. Full details are in these briefing notes. Take some trenchcoats with you as well; you'll be near enough Budleigh Babberton and Topsham—can't let the Muggles spot you in cloaks—well, off you go, then. Come back with a full report.

"Alright, that's it, go on," concluded Mr. Robards to the Auror trainees after shooing Teal Team 6 out of his office. The crowd broke apart as Mr. Robards shouted, "I expect these missions completed within the week, too!"

"Come on, we'll need Cursebreaking scrolls," said Harry as he lead the way to the supply room.

"What's the Moja case?" asked Clarinda as she snatched the briefing papers from Harry's hands. "Ooh, a mansion!"

"Yippee," said Ron sardonically. "A bloody mansion. It smells to high Merlin and it's not very well-kept."

"How would you know?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Have you been?"

"I—er..."

"I told him," said Harry. "Dumbledore took me to Budleigh Babberton to fetch Professor Slughorn. I thought you'd know that, since you already know everything else about my life..."

"Oh, right! When he disguised himself as a Muggle house, yeah?" Clarinda chirped. "He must be big."

"Looks like we're just meant to have a look around," said Ernie, reading the briefing notes over Clarinda's shoulder. "And ensure the safety of a House Elf? Seems like a pointless job, even for Auror trainees. They must've had nothing else to give us."

"House Elves are people too," said Harry. Ernie flashed he and Ron an apprehensive look, then cleared his throat and looked down at the floor shamefully.

"It's okay mate, you can't help yourself," said Ron. "You're only a Pureblood, after all."

Ernie looked up with an amused smile as they entered the store room. Clarinda skipped over to the shelves and withdrew two narrow strips of white paper from a box labeled Cursebreaking Scrolls. The scrolls had several inky black drawings of ancient runes. Meanwhile, Harry had retrieved four beige trenchcoats from a closet by the door and distributed them among his squadmates.

"Oh, I'd almost forgot!" gasped Clarinda after they'd slipped into their coats.

She jogged back into the Auror Headquarters towards the Teal Team 6 cubicle, and Harry, Ron, and Ernie followed her curiously. As the three wizards reached the cubicle, they found Clarinda holding a small white teacup with a design of pale green squares painted on it. Squinting, Clarinda stared into the cup and rotated it slowly.

"What're you doing?" asked Ernie."Tea leaves," replied Clarinda as she consulted her Divination tome. Harry sniggered.

"Tea leaves aren't going to help us," he said. "To see the future, you've got to know way too much about things like the brightness of Mars and stuff like that."

"But Trelawney's predictions saved you from certain death countless times, didn't they?" said Clarinda.

Harry glanced at Ron with a baffled look, but Ron was busy attempting to remove the meat that was stuck in his teeth.

"This is driving me crazy," mumbled Ron. "Agh—d'you reckon an Expelling Charm is safe for picking your teeth?"

"It'd probably just yank some of your teeth out," warned Harry.

"Looks like... a jackalope, or a spider," decided Clarinda. Ron widened his eyes. "Or a beetle—though from this angle, it looks like the sun. A happy spider, perhaps?"

"You heard her, team," said Harry. "Thank Merlin we checked those tea leaves. Be prepared for a happy spider."

From the lumpy white hills that surrounded the charming village of Budleigh Babberton, Harry, Ron, Clarinda, and Ernie popped into the air with several loud _*cracks*_ and immediately hugged their chests to brace themselves from the cold wind and falling snow. The village in the nearby valley was only discernible by the tall church tower at its center, as the roofs of the houses were camouflaged by a thick coat of snow.

Harry had long since surmised that the residents of Budleigh Babberton rarely left their homes, and were not the sort to plow the piling snow. As such, the only dents in the snow were footprints that led from the doorstep of every house to the church at the center of the town, creating the appearance of a large spider web of black dots connecting the houses.

Teal Team 6 continued past the town and followed a trail that led to the tall Moja mansion, which was flanked by leafless trees. Similar to the nearby town, the path to the mansion had not been shoveled.

With a pointed glance left and right to ensure that no Muggles were watching, Ron drew his wand and began to melt a path for himself and his squadmates through the use of the Incendio charm. The team made their way up to the house and climbed the porch, their wet shoes squeaking against the white-painted wood beneath them. Harry rapped his knuckles on the front door a few times as Ron peeked through the window, peeking into the foyer from an opening in the curtains.

"Maybe they're on holiday," said Harry to his fellow Auror trainees, who were pinching their noses from the foul stench emanating from the mansion. "Forgot to cool their food, and now it's gone bad."

"Oi!" barked Ron, beating his fist against the door. "Open up! Ministry of Magic!"

"Calm down, Ron, they haven't actually broken the law," said Ernie.

"Right, well, I'm going in," said Ron. "Best to just get this over with."

Ron turned on the spot and disappeared with a _*crack*_. After a moment, he reappeared with a much louder _*BANG*_ and was thrown out into the front yard, where he landed in the soft snow. Harry sniggered as Ron stood, brushed himself off, and walked back to the porch, grumbling along the way.

"Anti-Apparition spell, you reckon?" guessed Harry. Ron nodded with a pronounced pout. "Clarinda, prepare a scroll, won't you?"

Clarinda nodded and withdrew a Cursebreaking scroll from the pocket of her trenchcoat. She flattened the strip of parchment over the door; it began to emit a dim golden glow, illuminating its inky black sketches of ancient runes. Ernie withdrew his wand from his coat and prodded its tip against the scroll, pinning it to the door.

"_Colloportus,_" he said.

A shimmer ran down the scroll before it caught fire and began to dissolve to ash. Ernie removed his wand from the scroll and flicked it at the doorknob; with a few clicks and taps, the locks unhinged and the door sprang open. Through the doorway, the Auror trainees could see a vast lobby with many polished wooden doors and golden rails. Teal Team 6 stepped into the mansion with their wands drawn.

The lobby had no shortage of ornate blue-and-gold designs and wood-paneled walls. Below their feet, a strip of baby blue carpeting extended from the front door to the lobby and split into paths that covered the wooden floor like the stem of a leaf and branched out towards the many doors on either side of the lobby. Two sets of stairs on either wall led up to a second-floor landing; the stairs, comprised of sand-colored stone, curved down the walls like the tusks of a colossal mammoth.

"Is there anyone here?" called Harry, his voice echoing. He then raised his wand, and said, "_Homenum Revelio!_"

There was no response.

"So they have gone," said Harry.

"Should we leave?" asked Clarinda.

"Nah, let's have a look around," said Ron. "The House Elf might still be here. What harm could it do?"

"What's his name?" asked Ernie.

"Smythe," replied Harry.

"Odd name," said Clarinda.

"All right, I'm thinking we should split into pairs and search the mansion for any clues as to what happened to the family and where they are now. Ernie, you're with me. Ron, you go with Clarinda."

Ron nodded, then grasped the golden handle of the nearest door, which was in the shape of a scarab beetle, and pushed it open, revealing a lounge with more blue carpeting and wood-paneled walls. As they walked in, Ron and Clarinda heard Harry and Ernie entering the room on the opposite side of the lobby. Ron immediately noticed a thin layer of dust over the floors, tables, armchairs, and fireplace, which was cluttered with moving photographs of a middle-aged, brown-skinned couple with jet black hair.

Ron approached the fireplace and noticed a row of magical photographs depicting the timeline of a toddler growing into a boy; in the picture at the end, he was holding a black wand. Clarinda began searching the shelves on the other side of the room, pulling out various books and inspecting them.

"Aha!" she said. Ron looked at her curiously. "And you doubted my Divinations! Look, the Moja family crest is a scarab beetle!"

"Doesn't prove anything," muttered Ron. "These people probably worship beetles in their home country."

"Wonder where they're from," said Clarinda as she snapped a book shut and placed it back on the shelf. "I don't see much in this room, but now we know what they look like, so that's something, I guess."

"Egypt, I reckon, from all the gold and blue stuff. I went there once, and those lot are mental for beetles and bugs and all that. There's something else, too," added Ron, still looking at the pictures. "They have a son—the briefing notes didn't mention that—and this room hasn't seen foot traffic in a long time."

After some more inconclusive snooping, Ron and Clarinda exited the lounge at the same time Harry and Ernie emerged from the room they had checked.

"Anything?" asked Ron.

"They've got a son, apparently," said Harry. "There are some pictures in there, and a loo, but not much else."

"Ours was quite the same." Ron pinched his nose again; the deathly stench of the house hadn't been as strong in the lounge.

They continued through the house, braving a brilliant dining room with sparkling chandeliers and a long table, a vast library with many thick tomes that mainly covered ancient magical history and the Dark Arts and would not have been allowed in the Hogwarts library, a room that was left completely empty but for a tall black harp with strings cluttered with spider webs, and a bathroom that contained a wide, luxurious bath and racks of various potions.

"What is this family's fascination with beetles?" wondered Harry as they regrouped once again and proceeded to the next door.

"I don't know—is it me, or is the smell getting worse?" said Clarinda.

"I smell it too," said Ron. "Behind this door."

Harry slowly placed his hand over the door's handle and raised his wand, then ripped the door open and aimed into the room, quickly scanning it with his eyes. It was a kitchen, with a big industrial silver sink, clumps of black pots and pans hanging from the walls, and a fireplace in the corner of the room.

As soon as Harry opened the door, a swarm of flies escaped the room overhead, and he was hit with the full blast of the house's foul stench. Harry quickly clamped his nose shut with two fingers, grimacing in disgust, as his squadmates did the same. There were several blackened, rotten pumpkins on the counter that were infested with cockroaches.

Over the unlit fireplace, a big iron pot was placed over the rocks; upon further inspection, and with several sickened groans, the Auror trainees identified the contents of the pot as extremely old soup. It was a pale olive green color, with several black beetles floating in its murky water and plumes of white mould growing on the pot's inner walls.

"_Bloody hell,_" breathed Ron.

"It appears that the Moja family deserted this house," said Ernie. "They must have been in a hurry to leave, if they left all their pictures behind."

"Or worse," said Harry. "They could be dead."

"We haven't found them," said Clarinda hopefully.

"We haven't even checked the second floor, or the cellar," argued Harry. "Come on—no, Ron, don't open the pantry."

"Like I'd eat anything in here!" said Ron, though he continued to check the pantry. "Like I'd ever have an appetite again—ugh, maggots..."

Teal Team Six eagerly left the kitchen, sealing the door shut tightly, and approached the staircases at the center of the main lobby. The strip of carpeting extended up the stairs, clinging to each step, and the pillars of the gold railing that ran up each set of stairs were comprised of many metallic ankhs.

"Wonder what's in here," said Ron, pointing to a cupboard under the stairs.

He opened the cupboard and crouched down to peer inside; there were several rags clumped together at the center like a nest, with a pillow and small lamp nearby. Harry felt a pang of empathy for Smythe the House Elf as he understood that this was where the elf slept.

"Probably Smythe's room," said Ernie.

"What's that?" said Clarinda. She reached in and withdrew a withered black book from the pile of blankets.

She turned it over to show the cover, which was blank except for a golden ankh symbol. She then cracked it open as Harry, Ron, and Ernie peered over her shoulders to inspect it.

"This is about Necromancy!" exclaimed Clarinda.

"Is this what House Elves read before bed?" wondered Ron.

"Could the Inferi attacks have been real?" said Harry.

"I doubt it," said Ernie.

"Wait!" said Ron. "What if—get this—they hid the _Inferi_ in their Gringotts vault, then the thief came and stole them?"

"Ron, that's possibly the stupidest thing I've ever heard," said Harry. "How would they even get Inferi in there without the Goblins noticing? And why on Earth would a thief want to steal them?"

"Just a thought." Ron shrugged. "We still haven't worked out what happened in that break-in, and how it ties in with their disappearance."

"Maybe the thief used Inferi to sneak into the vault," said Clarinda.

"That doesn't make any sense, Clarinda. Don't be stupid."

"It was better than your little theory."

"Not a great accomplishment," said Harry. "Let's check upstairs, shall we?"

Harry, Ron, Ernie, and Clarinda trudged up the stairs that curled up one of the walls of the lobby, following the path of blue carpeting up to the second floor, and turned into the second floor hallway. The hallway was illuminated by a white light shining through sliding glass doors that led to a snow-covered terrace outside, which cast the left sides of the Auror trainees' bodies in shadow.

"This must be the master bedroom. That's the biggest beetle I've seen yet," said Harry, as they arrived at a door with a silver beetle placed at its center.

The quartet raised their wands as Harry gripped the doorknob and pushed the door open; they quickly rushed inside and swept the room with their eyes, and concluded that it was empty.

Harry found himself rotating on the spot as he surveyed the room in awe; the walls were covered in hieroglyphs. From the floor to the ceiling, inky black snakes, pharaohs, cats, birds, sphinxes, and jackals were drawn on off-white papyrus.

The king-size bed was neatly tucked and made, and there was no trace of warmth on the partially melted white candles that were scattered on every surface of the room. A sliding glass door in the corner of the room led to a snowy balcony outside.

"Egyptians," said Ron as he looked around at the hieroglyphic walls. "That explains the wealth and all."

"What d'you mean?" asked Harry. Ron gave him a look; though he'd been practicing magic for nine years, Harry still often found himself clueless on several aspects of the wizarding world that Purebloods such as Ron considered common knowledge.

"Well, Egyptians are the forefathers of magic, aren't they?" said Ron. "'Course, you've got all sorts of magic all over the world—no one founded it—but the Egyptians are like royalty in the magical world. Filthy rich, the whole lot, but they aren't too keen to accept the new ways, so they're dying out."

"So then why did the Mojas move to England?"

"Wouldn't you? They've got all that gold and can't spend it. They live underground, see, in deserted tombs and pyramids they're sworn to protect. Apparently the Muggles have made that whole region rather unsafe with their bombs and such—at least, that's what Bill tells me. I didn't see anyone in the tombs we visited."

"MERLIN'S BEARD!"

Harry, Ron, and Clarinda turned around quickly to see Ernie standing next to an open drawer, flailing his hand in the air as if trying to shake water off of it. With one final swing of his arm, Ernie threw a small black creature off of himself; it soared across the room and slammed into Ron's cheek with a loud smack, then plopped to the ground. Harry crouched down to examine it and identified it as a Doxy by its fairy-like appearance, charcoal-black skin, and insect wings.

"Oi!" barked Ron, rubbing his mouth. "What'd you throw at me?"

"It bit me," said Ernie, examining a gash on his palm. He pressed the tip of his wand to his hand, and muttered, "_Episkey._"

"That won't be enough," said Harry as he watched the cut on Ernie's hand heal rapidly. "Doxies are poisonous."

Ernie looked up; his head was slicked with sweat, and he was slouching slightly. Clarinda withdrew a small vial of milky green liquid from her belt and handed it to Ernie, who drank it eagerly.

"_Ugh_, that's much too sweet," said Ernie, his face contorting in disgust.

"At least that's all it was," said Ron consolingly. "Hold on... YES!"

"What?"

"It knocked the corned beef loose from my teeth!" Ron beamed triumphantly.

"Let's move on," said Harry.

They exited the master bedroom and ambled down the hallway until they came across another door. It was one of the few doors in the house not adorned with a scarab beetle figurine. Harry, Ron, Ernie, and Clarinda swung the door open cautiously and hurried inside. When Harry first saw inside the room, he had thought it was decorated with a pattern of red roses, but, once his eyes had adjusted to the light, he realized that the room was splattered, from wall to hieroglyphic wall, with blood.

"Blimey," said Ron. Ernie and Clarinda were wide-eyed and speechless.

Harry looked around the room more closely and saw a blood-soaked twin-size bed, the formerly white sheets of which gave the impression of a cow with red spots. There were several brown-and-red wooden objects scattered at the foot of a small chest in the corner, which Harry identified as a set of wooden toys. A streak of blood led from the bed to a few scraps of parchment and a docked quill atop a desk in the corner of the room.

"What the hell happened in here?" wondered Harry.

"This looks like a child's room," said Clarinda in an uncharacteristically weak tone, looking terrified.

"Maybe the child died," said Ernie.

There was a heavy silence as Harry, Ron, Ernie, and Clarinda searched the room for clues.

"So, obviously someone was hurt in here, but why isn't there blood in the hall?" said Harry. "Surely there'd be some trace of it."

"Maybe they cleaned it," said Clarinda.

"If they cleaned the hall, why not clean this room as well?"

"How about this," said Ron. "The son got hurt, and the family went back to Egypt, leaving the House Elf here, and the House Elf cleaned the hall but snuffed it before he got around to this room."

"Why would they leave everything behind?" said Harry.

"You're focusing on the wrong thing!" said Ernie, grimacing as sweat fell into his eyes. "We need to figure out what's happened in here, not why it hasn't been cleaned."

"Well, there's nothing else in here, so let's search the rest of the house," said Harry.

The group exited the child's room on their heels, surveying the hallway cautiously, silent except for Ernie's heavy breaths. As they finished up the second floor, having discovered nothing noteworthy, Harry suggested that Ernie take a rest.

"Absolutely not," he replied crossly. "The basement, then?"

"All right."

After a bit of searching, they found an entrance to the basement behind the stairs opposite to the House Elf's cupboard. All forms of decoration had been omitted in the construction of the basement staircase, which was a bare stone staircase illuminated by rows of plain brown torches on either wall. They walked down what seemed like three stories until they finally arrived at a heavy wooden door with a big iron lock.

"_Alohomora!_" said Ron as he prodded the lock with his wand, and the lock unhinged and fell to the ground.

Harry, Ron, Ernie, and Clarinda combined their strength and heaved the clunky wooden door open and dashed into the room, wands held up, looking around for any sign of danger. The basement was a very tall room, nearly as vast as the lobby above, and consisted of sand-colored stone pillars and flickering torches. The room was similar in structure to the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts, Harry thought, but instead of hospital beds, there were rows of stone sarcophagi.

Similar to the child's room, this chamber was filled with trails of crusted blood, which appeared to wander about the room in no particular direction, forming a big vermilion web over the sandy floor and stone coffins.

In stunned silence, Harry, Ron, Ernie, and Clarinda wandered into the room. As they passed through the crowd of sarcophagi, they saw that the blood stains appeared to flow down the sides, yet the heavy stone lids were free of any blood.

Nearing the end of the room, Ron felt someone patting his shoulder.

"What?" he asked.

"Huh?"

Ron widened his eyes: Harry, Ernie, and Clarinda were all in front of him, and thus were unable to pat him on the back. He paused for a moment, looking petrified, then jumped forward, emitting a great yelp and slipping out of his trenchcoat. The Auror trainees turned around with a jolt, then immediately made similar shrieks at the sight before them: A human figure, skeletally thin, with bulging white eyes and wrapped completely in sagging bandages, was limping towards them, gripping Ron's trenchcoat in one spidery hand, as more gangling mummies emerged from the sarcophagi behind it.


	17. Out of the Mansion

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

* * *

Harry, Ron, Ernie, and Clarinda stood frozen in place, temporarily horrostruck: Inferi, creatures so thin they had the appearance of skeletons wrapped in splotchy, rotten skin, were crawling out of the stone sarcophagi that stood in rows in the dank basement underneath the Moja mansion. Harry recognized the creatures immediately, though they were different from the Inferi he had seen in Tom Riddle's cave, as they were wrapped from head to toe in aged, decrepit linen.

Staggering awkwardly, the mummified Inferi approached the group of Auror trainees. A few of them who appeared to have been missing limbs were dragging their torsos forward with their reedy arms, and the closest mummy was still clutching Ron's trenchcoat in one of its loosely bandaged hands. They made a low groaning noise as they approached, a pained moan that ran a shiver down the spines of the living.

After a moment of shock, Harry, Ron, Ernie, and Clarinda sprang into action, brandishing their wands.

"_Reducto!_" exclaimed Clarinda, flicking her wand at the nearest Inferius; it recoiled as Ron's trenchcoat flapped wildly in its hand from the force of the spell.

_Cursing an Inferius is like punching a mound of dirt_, thought Harry, as he watched Ron's followup Reductor Curse have little effect on the advancing Inferi, which were coming much too close for comfort.

"Siege spells!" Harry instructed. "I'm going to distract—"

"_Orbis Infernum!_" shouted Ernie.

Harry turned to see Ernie drawing a circle in the air with his wand as if stirring a big cauldron. A flicker of fire appeared in the circle and quickly grew into a pumpkin-sized fireball. Perhaps hindered by his Doxy poisoning earlier, Ernie's control over the fireball was slack. The mass of flames was unstable, as whips of fire were lashing out of the ball like orange tentacles, and embers were popping in every direction.

The effect on the Inferi was immediate: the small crowd of mummies shielded their bulging eyes and backed away from the flames. Ernie pointed his wand forward and the blast of fire rocketed towards the undead, and knocked them over like bowling pins.

"Run back upstairs!" said Harry. "We'll lock them in!"

Harry, Ron, Ernie, and Clarinda dashed across the sand-colored stone floor of the Moja basement as the Inferi recovered and rose to their feet a few limbs poorer. A lone Inferius was stumbling around in the corner, completely engulfed in flames, having taken the brunt of Ernie's fire blast.

"_Lumos Solem!_" said Harry, holding his wand up high.

A blinding flash of sunlight flooded the room; the Inferi were forced to flinch and cover their eyes, but were not prevented from swiping at the passing humans. As he ran by the mummies, Harry felt a bony hand pound into his ribs with abnormal strength and attempt to grapple onto his coat, which he immediately shed in order to flee.

By the time Harry's light had waned, Teal Team 6 was half-way through the room, and found themselves surrounded by roughly eight and a half mummies. Just as the mummies began to close in, luck came in the form of the rogue flaming Inferius as it stumbled blindly into a crowd of its fellows, setting them ablaze and eliciting horrid groans of pain from them.

Seizing their chance to escape, Harry, Ron, Ernie, and Clarinda hurried through the heavy wooden door of the basement and slammed it shut. Clarinda quickly placed the tip of her wand to the center of the battered door.

"_Colloportus,_" she whispered. A shimmer of green flashed over the door, signifying that it was sealed.

"_Bloody hell,_" breathed Ron. "There's no way that House Elf is still alive with those things around. Let's get the hell out—"

Ron was interrupted by a faint _*pop*_ that came from the heavy door whence they had escaped. The door had disappeared, causing a few Inferi that were leaning on it to fall over into the staircase, some of whom were still on fire. Harry groaned in pain as one of the flaming corpses collapsed over his leg, until he felt the hands of his squadmates gripping his shoulders and pulling him up the stairs.

Though the mummified Inferi had a staggered walk, and some were missing limbs, they were by no means slow. Crawling on all fours with their knobby knees sticking out, they scaled the stairs quickly. Teal Team 6 ran through the door at the top of the stairs and closed it behind themselves. No sooner had they applied a Sealing Charm to the door than it disappeared before their eyes with another _*pop*_.

Inferi began flooding into the room, squeezing through the doorway three at a time. Just as the Auror trainees raised their wands to strike the mummies, the entire lobby went dark, as all of its torches and lamps fizzled out at once. The only sources of light came from the few flaming Inferi, and the sliding glass doors on the second floor that led out to the snowy terraces outside.

"_Lumos!_" was repeated four times, once by each member of Teal Team 6. The room was illuminated slightly by the dim white light of their wand tips.

"What's the meaning of this?" demanded Ernie as they ran for the door.

"The mansion's bewitched," said Harry. "It's set to trap us in with the Inferi!"

In a few long strides, Ron got to the door first and began shaking the handle desperately, attempting to force the door open.

"Ruddy thing," he groaned. He pressed his wand against the doorknob and said, "_Alohomora!_"

As soon as Ron had attempted the Unlocking Charm on the door, he was launched backwards into the center of the lobby where he rolled over the polished wooden floor like a tumbleweed and eventually flattened out on his back as his squadmates caught up with him.

"I'm getting right bloody tired of being thrown around by this house!" he growled, as his fellow Auror trainees helped him up.

They turned around to see that the room had gotten a lot brighter; the Inferius that had caught fire in the basement was now sitting against a wall, reduced to smoldering ash. The fire, however, was stronger than ever, as it had spread up the wood-paneled walls and beetle-embroidered tapestries of the lobby. A haze of smoke fogged the room, clouding the ceiling from view, and the Inferi were bunching up at the center of the room to avoid the flames.

Then, there was an ear-splitting shriek that echoed through the vast lobby. Harry turned to see Clarinda fighting to free her arm from the grasp of a hungry-looking Inferius as several more Inferi began to surround her.

"_Incendio!_" she exclaimed, shooting a small stream of fire into the Inferius' bandaged face point-blank.

Clearly frightened by the fire, the Inferius released her at once, but was not seriously injured. Harry deduced that Incendio worked as more of a repellent than a poison.

"Upstairs!" decided Harry.

Teal Team 6 sprinted through the room, narrowly avoiding the fearful mummies and bolstering inferno. The fire had spread such that the walls were no longer visible behind the flames and smoke, and the air was simmering with heat. Harry, Ron, Ernie, and Clarinda reached the foot of the staircase, which was now clouded with black soot, and began to ascend the stairs. Ernie was climbing the stairs on all fours, panting heavily, having been drained both by the Doxy poisoning and the powerful Infernum spell he'd used in the basement.

"But Harry," protested Clarinda. "Don't you watch Muggle movies? They always run up the stairs when they should be—"

"Those are films!" shouted Harry as he reached the top of the staircase. "The door is locked, where d'you reckon we should go?"

Harry frowned as he received no response.

"Clarinda?"

Harry turned around as Ron and Ernie ran past him and began trying to curse their way through the sliding glass doors that led out onto the balcony outside. Harry's jaw dropped as he looked back at the stairs he'd just climbed; they had collapsed into the flames below, and Clarinda was nowhere to be seen amidst the rubble.

"Clarinda!" Harry stepped to the rail of the second-floor landing and peered over the edge.

"Where is she?" demanded Ernie, who, along with Ron, had given up on the resilient glass doors and ran to Harry's side in search of Clarinda.

"She was right behind me, but the stairs have collapsed," said Harry.

"We have to go down there," said Ron.

"We can't!" said Ernie suddenly, looking horrified.

"There's another staircase—"

"Yes, and look!" Ernie pointed to the staircase on the opposite side of the lobby, where several Inferi were fleeing to the second floor. Most of them had charred bandages, and looked weakened and frail.

"We'll have to curse them," began Ron, but he faltered mid-sentence as another loud _*pop* _sounded nearby. Ron turned to gaze down the hallway beside them, which led to the child's blood-filled room. "What was that noise?"

"I heard it too," said Harry, though he didn't dare take his eyes from the Inferi that were scaling the stairs. "What's the mansion done this time?"

"It could have been Clarinda!"

Ron hurried down the hallway and to the door of the child's room, with Harry and Ernie following loosely, unwilling to turn their backs on the approaching Inferi. Ron ripped the door open and pointed his wand inside as Harry and Ernie looked in over his shoulders.

Staring back at them from inside the child's room with the guilty appearance of a thief caught red-handed, was a small, thin, pointy-eared House Elf with a long crooked nose. Where most House Elves the Auror trainees had seen before had worn an old rag that resembled a pillowcase, this one was wearing a dingy, floor-length, long-sleeved white robe which, like the room in which he stood, was stained with blood.

The House Elf was crouched down at the center of room, struggling to hold a figure that was slightly bigger than himself. Ron identified the creature as another Inferius and felt a lurch in his stomach as he realized that it was not wrapped in ban dages, and was the reanimated corpse of a young child with short black hair and brown skin.

Harry, Ernie, and Ron stood still for a moment, staring at the scene, then Ron barked: "_OI!_"

The House Elf released the Inferius, which dropped to the ground, limp, and that's when Ron saw that the undead child's entire right half had been seared and blackened with burns. Ron's eyes followed the corpse as it crawled slowly towards the bed in the corner of the room.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

A flash of red light swept through the room from Harry's wand and collided with the House Elf, whom Ron then noticed was gripping a familiar black wand of his own. Harry's blast slammed into the elf's chest, causing him to topple over, his own thick wand sent flying off into a corner of the room.

The elf rose to its feet in one agile hop and held his hand out in Harry's direction. The House Elf closed his eyes and a powerful force swept through the room, knocking Harry, Ron, and Ernie over onto the blue carpeted floor. By the time they had recovered and returned to their feet, the House Elf had disappeared.

"The mansion's not bewitched at all!" growled Ron, rubbing his sore back as he stood.

"Oh no," said Ernie; the floor was beginning to quake. "This whole building is crumbling..."

"_Protego!_" said Harry quickly, holding his wand straight up. Ernie and Ron did the same.

Harry had acted just in time, as the roof immediately caved in above them, but the debris was unable to penetrate the forcefields they had raised with their Shield Charms. Walls of the mansion were falling all around them, and their vision was immediately clouded by a haze of dust. Soon, the floor was ripped from underneath them and they fell into the room below.

With a great rumbling of earth and clanging of metal, Harry, Ron, and Ernie fell through the floor and found themselves in the kitchen. Harry landed on his feet and immediately crumpled over from the force of the fall, scraping his hands on the crumbling debris.

Ron landed directly over the unlit fireplace, tipping the heavy cauldron of old soup over so that gallons of horrid olive-colored water spilled over his body, along with swarms of gritty black beetles and plumes of greenish-white mould. After coming to his senses, he rolled over onto his hands and knees and hacked up a mouthful of the rancid water; his face formed a sickened grimace, and he looked as though he was about to throw up.

Ernie landed flat on his back over the kitchen table, scattering piles of silverware and kitchen utensils off onto the floor. When Ernie sat up, Harry spotted a small silver fork protruding from his back; Ernie shifted uncomfortably, trying to remove it, as if attempting to scratch an unreachable itch.

"I'll get that, mate," coughed Harry as he stood up. He promptly gripped the fork and pulled it out of Ernie's back, eliciting a pained squeal.

_*pop*_

The House Elf had Apparated into the kitchen with his wand raised, poised to curse. With a swish of the wand, several forks and knives ascended from the floor and formed a swarm in mid-air, all pointing in the direction of Ernie and Harry. Harry thought of diving behind the table, but considered that Ernie might have been too sapped from his many injuries to evade the onslaught of silverware that would undoubtedly be shooting at them like darts.

"_Reducto!_" cried Ron's voice from the fireplace across the room.

A shot of red light burst from Ron's wand, and the House Elf's swarm of levitated silverware dispersed. The elf raised his wand to counter-attack, but faltered as he looked up and saw a large chunk of the ceiling falling down over him. He turned on the spot and disappeared again, narrowly avoiding the falling debris. Among the bits of wood and rock, the small frame of the undead child could be seen twitching slightly, having fallen from the room above.

"Damn it!" growled Harry. He stood and helped Ernie to his feet as Ron climbed over a crag of rubbish to reach them.

"Let's get out of here," he suggested.

"That elf—Smythe—won't let us, will he?"

"We'll have to curse him."

"How does one fight a House Elf?" wondered Ernie. His voice was weak, and he walked with a hunch, one hand covering his stab wound.

"Trick it into speaking ill of its masters and it'll do the job for you," mused Ron feebly. "Er—don't tell Hermione I said that."

"We've got bigger concerns. Soon, this house'll be nothing but rubble... _Reducto!_" Harry flicked his wand at the kitchen door angrily, reducing it to ash.

Harry had expected to come across a roaring inferno on the other side of the door, but instead watched as a small wave of water splashed into the room and pooled the floor.

"_What the..._" Ernie's eyes widened. "Clarinda!"

He dashed out through the door and disappeared into the fiery corridor, his boots splashing on the wet floor beneath him. Harry and Ron shared a confused look, then followed Ernie into the hallway that led to the lobby. Upon entering the lobby, they discovered that the roof had fallen completely, as the foggy white sky shone dimly overhead.

The fire was still active, though quelled slightly by a stream of running water coming from under the door of a room Harry knew to be a bathroom. Ernie was making use of an Extinguishing Spell to a small degree of success as he hobbled through the lobby, shouting Clarinda's name repeatedly, as Harry and Ron hurried to catch up with him.

"The water's coming from the loo!" shouted Harry, hurrying over to the door. He pressed his wand to the handle and said, "_Alohomora!_"

The door sprang open, and Harry, Ron, and Ernie aimed their wands at the doorway, prepared for battle. They lowered them, however, as they came face to face with a wide-eyed Clarinda, who was nursing a bloodied lip. Behind her, the faucet of the bathroom sink had been ripped off, and water was squirting out onto the floor.

"You're alive!" blurted Ron. "Er—I mean, there you are! What happened?"

"The stairs fell," she replied. "I fell back into the lobby and ran through the first door I could find, and it led me here... only, the loo was... occupied, and the sink got broken in the fight."

"Blimey!" Ron, Ernie, and Harry stepped into the room and looked around for the Inferius.

It was in the bathtub, curled in a heap of bony limbs. It was completely still, but didn't look burned; its eyes were glazed over, its skin had grown pale, and still clutched in one of its clawlike hands was Ron's trenchcoat.

"How'd you stop it?" wondered Harry. "Full Body Bind?"

"No, I used this!" Clarinda held up Ron's Deluminator, then handed it to Ron. "It was in the pocket of your coat. I let loose all the light it had, and the mummy sort of went rigid, then died."

"We need to leave this house," said Ernie. He was leaning over the sink, looking completely exhausted.

In his amazement over Clarinda's ingenuity, Harry had nearly forgotten they were in a burning house. The severity of the situation had lessened slightly, as with no ceiling the threat of smoke suffocation was gone, and, as far as Harry could tell, all the Inferi except the coat-thieving mummy had been burnt to a crisp.

"Reductors on three," instructed Harry, as he, Clarinda, Ernie, and Ron raised their wands at the charred front door of the mansion. "One, two, three!"

"_Reducto!_"

The door was blasted to bits by the force of the combined hit, allowing Harry, Ron, Ernie, and Clarinda to rush out of the house at top speed. They'd made it to the front lawn before Ernie collapsed over the soft snow. Harry turned to look back at the burning mansion as Clarinda crouched next to Ernie and examined his wounds, and Ron, having realized that he was drenched in the rancid soup from the kitchen, was vomiting into a snowbank.

"Well, mission accomplished, I'd say." Harry laughed darkly.

"Looks like it'll be completely destroyed," said Clarinda, as the mansion's left flank imploded.

"Good, they'll all have burned."

"What about" — Ron spat a final wad of slime into the snow — "Smythe? Where'd he run off to?"

"Nowhere, I expect," said Harry. "Can't leave without the order from his masters, can he? You saw Winky at the Quidditch World Cup, didn't you? Ron?" added Harry, after Ron didn't respond. He looked around to see that Ron had made a dash back for the front door of the mansion.

"RON!"

Ron disappeared into the door, and Harry feebly approached, knowing he scarcely possessed the energy to run in after him. Moments after Ron had entered the house, the front wall crumbled to the ground, causing the upper levels to implode in an avalanche of burnt gold and polished wood.

Harry's heart sank. The mansion no longer had any recognizable shape, and was merely a pile of rubbish, and the fire was nearly dead, though a few remnant pyres of flame were scattered about the mess. His pulse thumping, Harry climbed over the wasteland of debris, scanning the clutter desperately for any sign of a red head of hair.

"Ron!" he shouted over and over, his voice growing weaker with each call.

To Harry's horror, a silence fell over the rubble, where even the flicker of fire couldn't be heard. Harry had come to identify this as the moment of quiet when all hope was lost, and the prospect was grim. Harry was pulled from this thought, however, when a loud _BANG_ echoed a few meters away, sounding like a gunshot in the silence.

A powerful force had blown a hole in the pile of debris from below, shattering the rocks to mere pebbles, and the blackened wood to splinters. Harry hurried over to the source of the noise, and felt his chest swell with glee as the dust cleared and Ron arose from the ground, carrying an unconscious House Elf in his arms.

"Ron, are you okay?" asked Harry as he reached Ron. Ron nodded. "How did you..."

"The basement," said Ron simply. They began to walk back to the front yard, where Clarinda was nursing the wound on Ernie's back. "When I ran in, I saw that the door to the basement was open—lucky thing Smythe chose to run in there, really—I reckon I'd have been crushed if I didn't go down there."

"Yeah..." Harry took a deep breath to calm his rapidly beating heart. "You had me there, mate. You've got to be more careful."

"When did you turn into Hermione?"

"Speaking of Hermione, how much of the details d'you reckon we should divulge to her?"

"Ah, you know Hermione, always worried sick—hey, what're you walking all the way over there for?" Ron raised an eyebrow as Harry had created a distance of nearly ten feet between them.

"You smell like rotten soup." Harry grinned as Ron examined his shoulders with a few sniffs from his long nose, then screwed up his face in disgust.

"Anyway, about Hermione," continued Ron in more of a growl. He nodded down to the unconscious House Elf in his arms. "She'll get all the details from this little guy, so we'd might as well."

"It's not that I don't want to tell her, but you know what she thinks of us, how we're always so—"

"Reckless." Ron grinned. "Only because it's true. We were quite professional about this though."

"As professional as we could be, given the circumstances."

They finally reached the snowy front lawn, where Clarinda was tipping a vial of Pepperup Potion down Ernie's throat as he sat in the snow. Upon drinking the potion, his cheeks grew pink and his eyes watered, but he remained seated in the snow, hugging his knees to his chest. Though he'd clearly undergone several healing spells with Clarinda's help, he still looked exhausted.

Grinning, Harry considered Clarinda as he watched her helping Ernie up. He had been curious about how well she would handle herself on a mission, when in the face of danger. She reminded him of Hermione in the way that she executed the necessary spellwork without hesitation when the Inferius had grabbed her.

"I need a place to put this elf down," said Ron.

"Let's Apparate back to the Ministry," said Ernie hoarsely.

"Not in the state you're in. We don't want to splinch something off, and you all know I've done it plenty of times when I was perfectly fit to Apparate."

Ron began walking down the trail that led to Budleigh Babberton, his eyes fixed on the snowcapped gray churchtower located at the center of the village. Harry, Ernie, and Clarinda followed, looking unsure. After his arms grew tired, Ron hoisted the skinny elf over his shoulder.

"We can't take a House Elf into a Muggle town," warned Clarinda.

"You're right, let's Disillusion him," replied Harry.

He furrowed his brows in concentration, then tapped the House Elf' s head with the tip of his wand. It was as if a rainbow of colored paints began trickling down the elf's body, fluctuating until it affected the colors of its surroundings like a chameleon.

As Teal Team 6 trudged sluggishly through the pure-white snow, following a path that led to the middle of the grid of houses, they cast weary looks at the surrounding homes; the houses, as they always had been, were eerily still. However, now that they had ventured closer to the houses than they ever had before, the young Auror trainees saw several lights through the windows, and more signs of life in the form of laughter, conversation, and several barking dogs.

They arrived at the church and pushed through the set of tall oak double doors at the entrance. The interior of the church was vast and cold and illuminated by sunlight shining through stained-glass windows high on the walls. Harry, Ron, Ernie, and Clarinda collapsed over the hard wooden benches and rested.

"Harry, have you got the Veritaserum?" said Ron. "I think old Smythe's coming to. Yeah, look there, he's trying to get up."

Smythe had hopped off of the bench and was making a feeble jog for the exit. Harry seized him by the neck of his transparent robe and threw him forcefully back onto the bench. Ron, Ernie, and Clarinda got up and walked to Harry's side as he tapped the crown of Smythe's bald head again with his wand, undoing the Disillusionment charm.

"Don't move," he warned, as he withdrew a small vial of clear liquid. Smythe's tennis-ball shaped eyes widened. "Open your mouth."

"Smythe does not" — Smythe coughed raspily — "Take orders from the likes of you!"

After exhaling an annoyed sigh, Harry grabbed Smythe by his minute jaw and tilted his disproportionately large head back, then raised the vial of Veritaserum over his mouth and allowed it to drip three times before releasing Smythe's mandible and stowing the potion back on his Auror's belt.

"Speak," he said. "We will listen."

"Of what?"

"What happened to the Mojas?" asked Ron.

"Dead... killed..." droned Smythe, his eyes suddenly welling up. Smythe's voice did not carry the same skin-crawling growl of Kreacher's, but it was much darker than Dobby's cheerful chirp.

"By a thief?"

"Not a thief! How dare you!" growled Smythe suddenly. Ron flinched.

"Who did it, then?" asked Clarinda in a diplomatic tone.

"Master Ashuk," replied Smythe.

"Who's Ashuk?"

"The son of Smythe's masters..."

"The kid did it?" the Auror trainees paled. "How?"

"Master did it with his bare hands." Smythe appeared to have been regaining his composure, as he sat up straight against the wooden bench.

"So then who killed the kid?"

"Masters..."

"Hold on, but you said—all right, please just tell us the story from the start."

"Smythe's masters are traditional Egyptian sorcerers, gifted in the most ancient and powerful branches of magic, pure of blood and spirit, trusted to guard the tombs of the ancient Pharaoh and his magical council..." Smythe stood up in his seat as Harry, Ron, Ernie, and Clarinda sat next to him.

"Master Ashuk was to undergo the initiation that would allow him to follow in their footsteps, but Master Ashuk was not like his parents..."

"How so?"

"Master Ashuk was i-incapable of performing magic."

"He was a Squib?"

"Masters didn't know—Master Ashuk needed magical blood to survive the ceremony—they were scared of the new laws—what would happen to them if the English wizards found out?"

"So they hid his body at Gringotts," said Harry slowly, his mind racing.

"Aha!" said Ron suddenly. "I've figured it out now. They killed him accidentally because they expected him to be able to use magic, then when he failed and died, they hid him in Gringotts, until _you_ broke him out!"

Smythe's eyes pooled with tears once again as Ron pointed an accusatory finger at him. He nodded.

"If they wanted to avoid detection, why on earth would they bring him to Gringotts in the first place?" said Ernie.

"Masters knew of the English ministry and their control over this land—they knew that the Ministry would know of underage magic. Masters still did not understand that there was no magic to detect."

"Then the Mojas attempted to raise him from the dead, didn't they?" said Harry.

"No, it was Smythe who did that!" wailed Smythe, his voice echoing loudly in the vast hall of the church. Harry looked around, wary of Muggle witnesses.

"Keep your voice down!" snapped Ernie.

"But Smythe has besmirched his masters." Smythe sniffled. "Smythe used Master Ashuk's wand—seven inches, acacia wood, sphinx hair core—to perform the Necromancy rituals. In his inexperience, Smythe summoned the lost souls from the family graveyard.

"Master Ashuk was brought back to life as well," he added. "He went after old Smythe, then his masters. They hesitated... their own son... and it was too late."

Smythe's echo seemed to ring through the room repeatedly through the stony silence. The darkness of the situation was evidenced when a spider scurried across Smythe's still face, and Ron didn't even cower.

"He still plays with his toys, he does," said Smythe finally. "Only Smythe could never get close enough to clean them."


	18. Nineteen Seconds Later

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I do not have any association with J.K. Rowling or the publishers and distributors of the Harry Potter books. I do not profit from writing fanfiction in any way.

* * *

As Harry, Ron, and Clarinda observed the weeping House-Elf on the church bench before them, the components of the Moja Mansion case were connecting like puzzle pieces in their minds. Ernie had passed out from exhaustion on a bench in the row in front of them, and Ron was eyeing a nearby bench longingly as if he were considering following Ernie's lead.

Smythe leaned his head back until it hit the back of his seat, sobbing at full volume. The House-Elf's cries echoed loudly in the vast church, and Harry feared it only a matter of time before a Muggle might come to investigate the commotion. Before Harry, Ron, and Clarinda could calm Smythe, the big double doors of the church creaked open, spreading a polygon of light over the floor near the entrance.

Harry quickly poked Smythe in the forehead with his wand, his face tensed in concentration, and recreated the Disillusionment Charm he had used to camouflage the elf on their way to the church. Color ran down Smythe's body like liquid, taking the exact appearance of his surroundings so that he blended into the church bench like a chameleon.

"Is everyone all right?" called a voice from the door.

"Yeah, we're fine," said Harry quickly, looking over to see the silhouette of a stout man standing in the bright doorway at the end of the aisle.

"It sounds like someone's crying," said the man as he entered the building.

Once the double doors had been closed behind him, the man's features came into view. He was a stocky, balding man with a neatly-trimmed brown beard. By his black attire, Harry identified him as a Muggle priest. He approached the group with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion; though Smythe was nearly invisible to the eye, his anguished cries still filled the whole church with sound.

"Well, that's just - you see, it's - er..." Harry stammered and looked around to Ron and Clarinda for help.

When he saw Clarinda, her face was in her hands, and she was bawling dramatically, and Ron was staring at her, looking quite confused. The priest arrived at their bench and gave Clarinda a warm sort of smile.

"I'm Father Egon," he said. "What's troubling you, dear?"

"She's - er -"

"I'm pregnant!" declared Clarinda. Harry raised his eyebrows, impressed, but Ron didn't appear to have caught on.

"What?" gasped Ron, his eyes widening. Clarinda elbowed him in the ribs, and comprehension dawned on his face. "Ow - I mean, oh - right, yes, pregnant."

"Oh." Father Egon sighed. "Well, that can happen..."

"We came here to pray," added Ron, nodding eagerly. "We asked him for... Guidance! Yeah, guidance."

"I understand," said Father Egon. "You have discussed this with your parents, haven't you?"

"Why are you asking me?" said Ron.

"Because the father bears equal responsibility," replied Father Egon, his tone suddenly stern. Harry struggled to suppress his grin. "I've seen this too many times - no, no backing out, young man - your parents will have to be informed."

"M-my parents?" squeaked Ron. "Yeah, I've told them, a'course."

"What's your name?" the priest continued. Harry covered his mouth to hide his widening grin, under the guise of scratching his nose.

"Harry," said Ron, shooting Harry a dirty look. Harry's grin faded. "Harry. S'just one name."

"I don't believe that." Father Egon rounded on Harry. "Think this is funny, do you? Are you the brother?"

"Yeah, I'm Har-" Harry hesitated - "Ron."

"Harron?" Father Egon raised an eyebrow.

"You know what, it's just easier to do this," said Harry as he drew his wand. He swished it in the priest's direction and said "_Obliviate!_"

"Let's go," said Ron. He felt around the bench until he found Smythe, then grabbed him and lifted him up. Harry promptly lifted the Disillusionment Charm again.

"Ernie?" said Clarinda, prodding the resting Ernie with a finger. "Wake up, we've got to go."

"Right," growled Ernie as he drowsily crawled to his feet and began walking towards the double doors.

* * *

With four _*cracks*_, Teal Team 6 materialized in the Apparition Chambers of the Ministry of Magic. Clarinda had transported Smythe by side-along Apparition. After stopping to make sure they'd made it there in one piece, they stepped through the door into the vast and golden Ministry atrium, with its rich peacock-blue ceiling adorned with shiny gold-and-silver symbols, polished wooden floors, and the Fountain of Peace at its center, from which the statue of Albus Dumbledore was observing the Ministry workers with his serene smile.

As it was the weekend, the Ministry lacked its usual throng of busy workers and guests that packed the atrium from wall to wall. Instead, only a few employees were passing through, and each of them had their eyes glued to Teal Team 6 as they carried Smythe over to the lifts.

Smythe appeared to have run out of steam and ceased his heavy bawling in favor of quiet sniffling. When they reached the lifts, a pair of golden grilles clanged open to admit them, and they filed into one and began their descent.

"How's everyone feeling?" asked Harry.

"Tired," said Ron. Ernie nodded in agreement.

"Just sort of trying to take it all in," said Clarinda.

"Yeah..."

"_Level seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office,_" spoke a cool female voice that seemed to emanate from the lift itself.

"Where should we take him?" wondered Ron.

"I don't know," said Harry. "The Auror office, I guess. I don't think they expected us to bring someone back."

"_Level six, Department of Magical Transport, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparation Test Center,_" continued the voice.

"What d'you reckon they'll say?" asked Harry.

"Probably that we were reckless," guessed Ron.

"I say we did a fine job," said Ernie.

"_Level five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law, and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats._"

The lift came to a stop at this floor as there were employees waiting to use it. Through the golden grilles, Harry could see two people in a very heated discussion. One, who appeared to be on a rant, had bright copper-colored hair under a brown bowler hat and was missing an ear. The other was tall and black, with silky black robes and a quill tucked behind his ear.

"This is _outrageous!_" growled George. Kingsley nodded, his eyebrows raised. "I want him thrown in Azkaban - a one way trip - I want him sharing a cell with a Blast-Ended Skrewt!"

"What's a -"

"It's a cross between a Fire Crab and - er - that's not the point. The point is," began George, but he faltered as the golden grilles of the lift opened with a clash behind him. He turned around and stepped in, with Kingsley following behind him.

"As I was saying," he continued, taking no notice of Teal Team 6. "This is an outrage! A scandal!"

"I understand, George, but there's nothing I can do."

"_Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau._"

"You're the Minister of Magic!" growled George. "Just order him to cease at once - no, that's not enough, I want him killed! I want him cut in half with the sharp edge of a Chocolate Frog card!"

"Who're you talking about?"

"Mind your business, Ron," snapped George. "Wait, Ron? Harry? What're you lot doing here?"

"We work here," said Ron, narrowing his eyes. "What're you doing here?"

"Having a word with my friend, Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic himself, perhaps you've heard of him."

"Now, George," said Kingsley reproachfully.

"I apologize, that was grossly Percylike," admitted George.

"_Level three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee._"

"We're back from our first mission," explained Clarinda, grinning at George.

"With a House-Elf?" questioned George with a glance at the elf in Ron's arms. "Was this a mission for the Auror Department, or Hermione's House-Elf support group - can't remember the name - V.O.M.I.T.?"

"It's_ Hurl,_" growled Ron.

"I think it's H.U.R.L. actually," corrected Kingsley. Harry snorted.

"Well, soon she'll have all the synonyms covered, I expect," said George.

"_Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services._"

"Here's our floor," said Harry.

"I'll come with you," said George. He turned to Kingsley, and said in a hushed voice, "I want him strung up by his thumbs, Kingsley. The Filch treatment."

"Duly noted," replied Kingsley. "Goodbye."

"Take care."

Harry, Ron, Clarinda, Ernie, and George walked down the corridor towards the Auror Headquarters, which was illuminated by a deep blue light from the windows, all of which displayed a view from the bottom of the sea. They arrived at the heavy oak doors and nudged them open, then continued through the grid of cubicles towards Mr. Robards' office.

They found Mr. Robards standing outside the door of his office, addressing a group of people the Auror trainees knew to belong to Bluish-Purple Team 1.

"Mr. Robards, we've solved the case," said Harry. Ron presented Smythe to him. "The House-Elf summoned the Inferi by mistake, and they killed the Moja family. The mansion's been burned to the ground. He broke into Gringotts," he added, nodding to Smythe, whose sobs had returned.

"Very well," said Mr. Robards slowly, slightly taken aback. "The House-Elf will be held in the dungeons. I await your full report, which is due tomorrow."

"Yes sir." Harry couldn't read Mr. Robards' expression under his big gray witches' hat, but he didn't seem angry. "Should we take the elf down, then?"

"Nah." Mr. Robards turned to the members of Bluish-Purple Team 1, who were waiting in obedient silence. "You lot! Take this Elf back to the dungeons! Perhaps you could learn something from Teal here, you little bleeders."

Ron happily handed Smythe off to a hurt-looking witch that belonged to the Bluish-Purple Squad.

"You," said Mr. Robards, nodding to Clarinda. "Your lip - have you been attacked by an Inferius?"

"Yes, it scratched me," she replied.

"You need to go to St. Mungo's, and tell that testy witch at the counter what happened. That'll bother you tonight if you don't get it patched up." His great nose twitched as he sniffed in Ron's direction. "You need a shower, Weasley. Well, carry on, then, you've got the day."

Clarinda nodded as Mr. Robards limped back into his office, supporting himself with Mad-Eye Moody's old staff. Clarinda turned to her friends, then suddenly threw her arms around Harry and hugged him tightly.

"That was intense," she said into his chest. He patted her back before she moved on to hug Ron, then Ernie.

"Oi," said George. "Where's mine?"

She smirked, then turned and disappeared into the city of cubicles.

"I'd forgotten that Justin works at the hospital now," said Harry.

"Yeah, he says the custodian's had a grudge with him since day one," said Ernie.

"Strange."

"Let's just hope she's not sharing a room with Lockhart and Bagman, yeah?" joked Ron.

"You might want to go too, Ernie," said Harry delicately. "You're still looking a bit clammy."

"No, I'm perfectly fit."

"Ernie..."

"I'm fine. I just want to go sit down somewhere."

"Grimmauld Place, then?" suggested George. "At least my sister's one woman who'll cook for me."

"Huh?" said Ron. "What d'you mean?"

"Don't worry about it."

"So where's Neville, anyway?" asked Harry.

"Nev's got a date." George grinned. "With Hannah. Took ages for me and L- er - a friend to convince him to go through with it."

"Why?" asked Ron. "He didn't seem too worried that night at the Leaky."

"Because of this," said George as he rummaged through his pockets.

After a bit of searching, he withdrew a folded page of parchment and handed it to Ron. Scribbled in loopy handwriting on the side of the note was _Neville Longbottom, 93 Diagon Alley, London._ Ron unfolded the letter; it was a perfectly circular shape, and the writing was scribbled along the edges so that Ron had to continuously rotate the note to read it.

"To Neville," read Ron aloud. "I am sorry I did not get the chance to write you sooner, but we did not bring an owl and we weren't near any owleries, or any civilization at all, for the longest time. While in Ireland, we did discover the fangs of a Blibbering Humdinger. I've enclosed one in this note so you can examine it."

"It was just a stick of chalk," explained George when Ron looked up. "But Neville kept it all the same, the poor sap."

"Daddy and I have been rather busy here in Spain. We went to the Spanish Ministry of Magic, which was nice, though ours is a bit prettier. We also met a boy named Rolf; his grandfather wrote Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. He's quite nice, but he seemed put-out when Daddy said that any skilled Magizoologist wouldn't have forgotten the Crumple-Horned Snorkack when writing a book about fantastic beasts."

There was a round of light sniggering before Ron continued.

"I don't know when I'll be back - Daddy said we might visit New Zealand in search of Heliopaths - so I'll keep writing," concluded Ron. "It's from Luna."

* * *

_*CRACK*_

George Weasley appeared in the unkempt front yard of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, with Ernie, Harry, and Ron hanging onto his arms, looking grateful. They began to trudge through the grass towards the front steps of the house. George was ambling smoothly, but Harry, Ron, and Ernie labored to make the trip, wincing with each step of their fatigued legs.

"Triple side-along," said George casually. "No big deal."

"How'd you get so good at Apparition?" asked Ernie.

"Not sure, just always had a knack."

They arrived at the battered black door of number twelve, with its metallic door-knocker that had been sculpted in the shape of a fierce lion's head carrying a dead serpent in its jaws. George tapped the door with the tip of his wand, eliciting several clicks and snaps as the locks of the door unhinged of their own accord.

"By the way, Ron, you need to be hosed down," said George. "You smell like Grawp's cave."

"I'll explain later," said Ron.

"I've got the explanation right here: you don't bathe."

George sniggered and Ron scowled, but his face was soon obscured by an odd thick air that simmered like the air above a bonfire; George had pointed his wand at Ron's cross-looking face and created a sort of whirlwind that was syphoning all the grime from Ron's body. After George had swept Ron from head to toe with the cleaning spell, the rank stench of the old soup from the Moja kitchen was no more.

George pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway, with its cardinal-colored walls that were dimly lit by the silver chandelier by the stairs, and the rows of gas lamps on either side of the hall. As they entered, a dusty, olive-colored figure rose from the ground like a tree, taking the shape of Albus Dumbledore, and slid towards them, reaching for George with one clawlike hand.

"Didn't kill ya, mate," said George as he removed his bowler hat and placed it on one of the hooks by the door. The figure dispersed in a cloud of dust.

Ron was the first to reach the living room, and immediately shouted: "Hermione! Ginny! Are you here? You won't believe the shit we've just - AH!"

Harry, George, and Ernie reached the living room to see Ron standing before a middle-aged man with short graying hair, familiar brown eyes, and a gaunt face. Ron's cheeks were burning a dark shade of maroon.

"Nice language," commented Mr. Granger.

"B-blimey ... didn't know you'd ... when did you get ... AH! Mrs. Granger!"

"Hello, Ron," said a middle-aged woman with bushy brown hair as she stepped into the living room from the hallway that led to the kitchen. "And Harry, of course."

"Hello," said Harry, barely containing his grin.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, George Weasley's the name," said George, shaking both of the Grangers' hands at the same time. "I'm Ron's brother - I've seen you at King's Cross before, during my Hogwarts years."

"Nice to meet you," said Mr. Granger. "Hermione's told us about you."

"Yeah, well, she had a bit of a schoolgirl crush - you know how it is - I was flattered, but I declined, so she settled for Ronnie here."

"Ha-ha," mumbled Ron.

"What ever are you talking about?" asked a voice from the hallway. Hermione and Ginny were standing there with their hands on their hips.

"Hermione!" exclaimed Ron. He jogged over to her and crushed her in a tight hug, eliciting a quiet squeak.

"We've just been through a lot," explained Harry to Hermione's parents as they watched Hermione hug Ron feebly, looking taken aback.

"I'm Ernie Macmillan," said Ernie, wringing Mr. Granger's hand, then doing the same to Mrs. Granger. "Hufflepuff House."

"Ah, isn't that the house they chuck you in if they can't figure out where to put you?" said Mr. Granger. Ernie's eyes narrowed severely.

"Dad!" groaned Hermione. "What a thing to say - I've never told them that, I swear, Ernie."

"You, of all people," grumbled Ernie.

"Actually, it was Harry who told me that, but now I suspect he was joking," said Mr. Granger.

"Come to the kitchen," said Ginny quickly. "Lunch is nearly ready."

"Now you're talking," said Ron, an eager grin splitting his face. He hurried to the kitchen.

The rest followed, and the long kitchen table of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, was soon surrounded by chattering witches, wizards, and Muggles. Kreacher was preparing lunch with ace multitasking, his white mushroom-shaped chef's hat jostling as he shuffled around the room, sliding plates of food in front of people. By Hermione's request, he made a full serving for himself, and sat down with them at the end of the table.

The meal went by quickly, as the members of Teal Team 6 wolfed down their food in a matter of seconds and declared that they needed to sit down on the couch. They soon gathered around the coffee table in the living room, stomachs full, and sat in the bloodred armchairs and couch.

"Well, I've had the worst day," George was saying with a sigh.

"Can't have been worse than ours," said Ron.

"So the mission went badly?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah, when we got there -"

"Lee broke the Man Code," interrupted George. Ron fell silent immediately. The men around the room were staring at George, who was looking grim.

"He didn't!" exclaimed a voice from behind them; Sirius Black had returned to his portrait.

"He did," said George. Sirius crossed his arms.

"The Man Code?" asked Ginny.

"Lee stole his girlfriend," explained Harry. "Yue, right? Go on, George, tell us about it."

"She was so beautiful..." George sighed.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Mr. Granger. "One of my best mates and I got in a pretty big feud over a girl, and I haven't talked to him in ten years. I won, of course," he added, nodding to Mrs. Granger.

Mrs. Granger and Hermione rolled their eyes identically.

"Cheers," said Sirius from his portrait, with his wicked grin.

"So Lee just swept in and nicked her from right under your nose?" said Ron. George nodded.

"She's not an object," said Ginny, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah ... I was yelling at her the other day, trying to get her to make me some of that good ... _Asiany_ food ... then she starts putting her hands up by her head and wiggling her fingers. I thought it was supposed to be a crown, you know, and she was declaring me king of the universe or something, but then I understood: dreadlocks."

"That's not good," said Ernie. "What did you do?"

"Well, I requested one more time that she make some food, then stomped down to the shop. Neville cleared out immediately - reckon he was scared - and it was early in the morning, so there were no witness- I mean, there were no customers around."

Hermione and Ginny shared looks of concern, then Ginny asked, "What happened next?"

"I transfigured him into a duck-billed platypus so fast it made his head spin. Ridiculed him for a bit, but then had to change him back, because he was trying to bite me."

"Nice one!" said Ron.

"My, you can turn people into animals?" asked Mrs. Granger.

"Yeah, s'called Transfiguration," said George.

"Oh no, I know, it's Hermione's favorite subject, but it's meant to be quite difficult, isn't it?"

"Yeah. So there I am, face-to-face with Lee 'I steal my best mates' birds' Jordan, and we're nose and nose, getting in each other's faces, sort of like a Quidditch coach and a referee when a bad call is made."

"So, like one of James's usual encounters with Madam Hooch, basically," said Sirius. Harry grinned.

"Then it came to fisticuffs," continued George. He looked up to see several widened eyes staring at him. "No one got hurt, though."

"That wasn't necessary, was it? And wouldn't you have been better off with a wand?" said Ernie.

"Wands just don't release the anger very well, do they?" said George. Harry and Ron nodded wisely. "Anyway, he clocked me pretty good, and then we went out for a drink and he apologized. I'm still giving him hell about it, though.

"But you were fighting!" said Hermione. "And you went out for drinks?"

"It's just how men are, dear," said Mr. Granger.

"Stupid, you mean?" said Ginny.

"I just don't know how she could do it," said George dolefully. "I'd always assumed that, since she can't talk to Lee either, she'd simply go for the superior specimen - me - and be satisfied."

"She can't talk to you?" asked Mrs. Granger. "Is she mute?"

"No, she's foreign and doesn't speak English."

"How do you communicate?" asked Sirius.

"Body language. It hasn't failed us yet - though, I suppose it has..."

"An emotional bond is very important," said Sirius. The girls in the room were nodding until he continued, "Of course, I've never gone to bed with an ugly woman. I've woken up with a lot of them, but - er - well, that's beside the point."

"Ugh, whether painted or living, there's only one civilized male in this house," sighed Ginny.

"Thank you," said Harry, smiling proudly.

"I was talking about Kreacher." Ginny grinned. "Though I suppose Ernie's here as well."

"What?" said Ernie, sitting up straight; he appeared to have dozed off. "I think you two should just sit down and talk it out, man to man."

"You look tired, Ernie," said Mrs. Granger.

"Speaking of 'tired,' I'm beat," said Ron, standing up and scratching his stomach. "I'm going up for a nap. I'll be down before dinner."

"Do you want me to wake you up?" asked Ginny.

"No, I'll just know - Harry?"

"I'm going to stay and tell them all what's happened," said Harry. "Ernie, why don't you go sleep in Sirius's old room?"

"If that's all right with him." Ernie glanced up at Sirius, who smiled.

"I don't mind if you sleep in there," he replied casually. "Nor do I mind if you pry open the loose floorboard to the left of the bed. No particular point in mentioning it, as it's just a floorboard, but -"

"I'm pretty sure we all understood that one," said Mrs. Granger. "My, am I talking to a painting? This is such an odd place."

"Don't you love it?" said Harry.

Ron and Ernie bade their friends and family goodbye, then ascended the stairs, Ron leading the way. Ron took Ernie to the door of Sirius Black's room, which had a small black pawprint at its center that had been painted fondly by Harry.

"Here it is," he said. "Some mission, huh?"

"Some mission." Ernie gave a weak smile. "You were good out there. I think you'll be very good at this."

"Thanks, mate - and you, as well." Ron patted Ernie on the shoulder, then walked off down the hall, eager to sink into his bed for some deep sleep.

* * *

"Ron?"

Ron opened his eyes; it took a second for his vision to adjust, as his bedroom had gone dark since he had fallen asleep. Yawning widely, he sat up and glanced around, looking for what had woken him up. For a moment, he couldn't identify anything other than shifting shadows in the room, which was pitch black except for his shining Mermish starflower, until the bedside lamp flicked on, and, next to it, Hermione Granger was revealed. Hermione was beaming from cheek to cheek.

"Are you awake?" she asked.

"Yeah -" Ron yawned again - "Dinner ready?"

"No, they've just started it. I'm sure between Ginny, Kreacher, and Ernie, they'll cook something up."

"Oh, you need my help? Mum's never taught me anything, so I'm just an average cook," he added, shrugging.

"I didn't even know you'd cooked anything before," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "But no, I came up here to ask you something."

"Yeah?"

"Did you really run into that burning house to save a House-Elf?" Hermione sat down next to Ron on the bed, staring at him intently. "Harry mentioned that, but I wasn't sure if he had conveniently left something out, perhaps that you'd been the one to lock him in there in the first place."

"I forgot about that," he said, snorting. "Yeah, I did, and no, I didn't lock him in. I wonder what'll happen to Smy-"

Ron's sentence ended abruptly as Hermione attacked him with an onslaught of kisses. After a while of wrestling around on the bed, connected at the lips, Ron and Hermione broke apart, and Hermione and looked into Ron's eyes, her face bright with joy.

"And you corrected George!" she continued, as Ron blinked dazedly. "When he was making fun of H.U.R.L."

"Oh, right," he said. "Well, I am an advocate, after all."

"Oh, be quiet." Hermione moved in for another kiss.

They snogged heavily until Hermione began to pull the shirt of Ron's pyjamas up to his ribs. He widened his eyes and broke away, then glanced around the room as if to search for witnesses.

"What're you doing?"

"Undressing you," she said, tensing her eyebrows in confusion. "I want to go further. I think it's rather overdue, don't you?"

"Your parents are downstairs!" he protested. "We can't have intercorks when they're right on the next floor!"

"Intercourse, Ron," she said with a smirk. "And they've left, anyway, so..."

"Oh..." Ron cleared his throat, his wicked grin gradually widening.

"So get on with it, then!" Hermione crossed her arms. "Disrobe!"

"Blimey, give me a moment," growled Ron as he quickly stood up at the side of the bed and began undressing. "I've just woken up."

In his eagerness, Ron made the mistake of attempting to remove his pyjama shirt and pants at the same time, which resulted in stumbling and ramming into his dresser head-first. The dresser wobbled ominously, then fell forward and crashed onto the ground, spilling its contents over the wooden floor.

"Don't mind that," said Ron as he rose to his feet, rubbing his pained forehead.

Ron widened his eyes as he saw that Hermione too had undressed, though she had done it silently and had already folded her clothes neatly and placed them on top of her own dresser. As he observed her, sitting casually on the bed in her underwear, it took all of his willpower not to pounce. Instead, he walked over to the bedside table and picked up his wand, then executed the Contraceptive Charm that Harry had passed on to him in a rather awkward conversation.

"We're ready," he said, gulping. "I mean, if you're ready."

"I am, I think."

"You look great, Hermione." Ron grinned. "And there's not even a hint of surprise in my tone."

Hermione beamed. Ron swept in over her and met her lips again, and soon they were rolling around on the bed, removing the last of each others clothing and exploring previously hidden areas with their hands.

"So how many books have you read about this?" he asked with a smirk as he loomed over her, ready to start.

"Shut up." Hermione's cheeks reddened more.

"I love you, Hermione," he continued.

"I love you too, Ron, so much... er, Ron?" Hermione prompted. Ron looked at her. "If you see any blood, don't worry, it's normal -"

"I grew up with six older brothers, Hermione. Frankly, I don't know how women walk around with those things. They always find an excuse to bleed, don't they?"

"Are you going to do it or not?"

"I am, I am, hold your Hippogriffs, woman - I'm just a bit more nervous than I thought I'd be."

"I'm nervous too, but I'm also rather anxious to - ah!"

"Blimey, Hermione, did I hurt you?"

"No, you just caught me off guard. Why on earth did you choose to do it in the middle of a - _ooh..._"

"To shut you up." Ron smirked.

They bickered feebly as they moved back and forth; both Ron and Hermione felt more in their element that way, and the awkwardness was forgotten. After a while, they had grown silent, as they had started kissing. It was over before long, and Ron and Hermione laid on their sides, still staring at each other. Though Hermione's eyes were fixed on Ron's, Ron's eyes had a tendency to wander.

"That was..." began Ron unsurely.

"Brilliant." Hermione grinned.

"You're just saying that," said Ron. "Because you know I'd go and brood for hours if I found out you didn't think it was the best thing to ever happen."

"It was great, though, I'm not lying."

"Be honest."

"Well, the pain was unpleasant," said Hermione with a shrug; Ron's grin widened at the movement of her chest. "Ron, I'm up here."

"Not while you're naked, you're not." Ron cleared his throat, then asked, "D'you fancy another go, or what?"

"Oh yes."

They continued for so long that they lost track of time. After many whispered endearments, loud groans, and a few crashes from when Ron had fumbled and fallen off of the bed, they finally stopped to rest.

"Ah," sighed Ron.

"_Bloody hell,_" said Hermione serenely. Ron snorted.

"Oi," said Ron, his cheeks twitching with silent laughter. "You must be really upset."

"I am, in a good way," Hermione confirmed as she sat up and began rummaging through the tangle of blankets for her clothes. "I'm going to shower."

"I could join you." Ron waggled his eyebrows.

"No, I don't think so; that might lead to ... _things_ ... and we'll never get downstairs in time for dinner."

"Oh!" Ron widened his eyes. "Dinner - I forgot!"

"I feel like that's the biggest compliment you could ever give me." Hermione smirked, finished dressing, then walked out into the hallway towards the loo.

* * *

"It's official," said Ron to himself as a coat of hot water ran down his face. "With Hermione ... Woah."

He was in the shower, resting his forehead against the tiled wall under the showerhead, his wet hair clinging to his head. Hermione had already showered and gone downstairs to dinner; after hearing his stomach rumble like a hungry beast, Ron was eager to follow. He hurriedly cleaned himself and washed his hair, then stepped out of the tub.

Still slightly dazed from the weight of the situation, Ron slipped as soon as he got out of the shower, and barely caught himself before he ran head-first into the sink. He looked up at the mirror into his reflection. After a short staring contest with himself, his stomach growled again.

"Hello to you too," replied the mirror.

His stomach was revving like a car engine by the time he had stepped out of the loo, and he hastened to obey it. Ron got dressed and cruised down the stairs so quickly that he slipped and began to skid down the stairs, holding onto the guard rail for support.

He landed, luckily, on his feet at the foot of the stairs, and heard Sirius's voice sounding from the living room. He stepped into the room and saw that the portrait of Sirius was telling a story, as Hermione, Ginny, Ernie, and George were all huddled around him, listening closely; Harry was sitting in a chair with his arms crossed, looking disgruntled.

"So _then_ this little godson of a devilishly handsome gentleman decides to strip down to his knickers and jump right into the frozen pond!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking with laughter.

"What on earth possessed you to do that?" asked Ernie. He appeared very well-rested, which caused Ron to wonder what time it was.

However, his stomach groaned once again, which alerted everyone to his presence.

"Oh, there you are, Ron," said Hermione, her cheeks tinting pink slightly. "We've missed dinner - it's still in there, if you want some."

Ron nodded and jogged off so quickly he didn't notice that Hermione was carefully watching him exit the room until he disappeared into the kitchen. After he was out of earshot, Hermione leaned in, and said in a hushed voice: "You won't believe what happened next."

The ham and baked beans Kreacher had prepared didn't stand a chance against a hungry Ron. Ron wolfed it down so fast that his hair was still damp from the shower by the time the last bite had gone. He sat back with a pleased sigh, patting his stomach, before getting up and setting a path for the living room.

When he arrived in the living room, he saw that all eyes were on him. Some, like Sirius, Ginny, George, and Ernie, were staring at him with an odd look that took Ron a moment to identify as admiration. Ron noticed that Hermione was looking away guiltily.

"What?" he asked dumbly.

"Oh, we were just discussing your encounter with the Horcrux," said Ernie casually. "Amazing how it tried to attack you - the cunning warrior attacks neither body nor mind; he attacks a man's heart."

"AH!" yelped Ron. He growled and alternated his glaring between Harry and Hermione. "Which one of you told them?"

Hermione raised her hand, and Ron's anger was quelled slightly with laughter; she had raised her hand exactly as she would in class.

"Aha! You! I told you I didn't want anyone else to know! Bet you all had a good laugh, didn't you?"

"We weren't laugh -" began Ernie.

"Silence, if you please!"

"Pipe down, Ron," said Ginny.

Ron piped down. After he took a seat on one of the maroon armchairs, he noticed that people were still eyeing him, especially George, whose face was split by a wicked grin.

"What?"

"Mate," said Harry delicately. He leaned in next to Ron, and whispered, "You didn't use a Silencing Charm."

"Oh... You heard?"

"Yeah, we figured you two had a massive row and started dueling, or someone was getting lucky."

Ron gulped and leaned away from Harry, then looked around at the others; Ginny, Hermione, Ernie, and George were now conversing about a project George has been working on.

"It's finished," said George. "But I can't show you now because the Bandits have it."

George sniggered at the looks of concern that cropped up around the room.

"It's not dangerous - not for them, at least - I've made it especially for them. I'll show you when the school year ends."

George glanced up at Sirius, then looked around the room. "Hey, Sirius, where's that other portrait? Marla?"

"I'd rather not talk about it." Sirius crossed his arms.

"She - er - preferred Phineas, you see," said Ginny carefully.

"Barking mad, that woman," spat Sirius.

"We've given her back to Dean because Sirius couldn't bear to be around her and Phineas," explained Hermione.

"By the way, we have to owl Hagrid to warn him that the Ministry is investigating Scorpagog," said Harry, attempting to change the subject swiftly. Sirius smiled gratefully.

"Or we could go tell him," suggested Ron. "I want to see Helinora too."

"I saw her not too long ago and she's doing well. She says it's hard fitting back in with the Centaurs, but they're treating her fine."

"I just hope Ronan becomes chief and does away with that anti-human rubbish Magorian and Bane have been pedalling," said Hermione.

"Speaking of rubbish-pedalling," said George. He reached into his shirt, felt around for a few moments, then withdrew a big green book. It was so thick that Harry wondered how he had managed to conceal it in his shirt, but, knowing George, it would have been only too easy. He held the book up as if to present it in an auction, and said, "_Ta-da!_"

"That's the last one, is it?" Harry took it from him and glanced at the cover, reading the title aloud: "Harry Potter and the Rita Skeeter book -_ AGH!_ I'm going to kill her!"

"Nah, she'd probably love that," said Ron. "As you're doing it, she'll be writing the headline _'Famous Demented Youth Harry Potter Kills Again.'_"

* * *

Below Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, down in the Hufflepuff basement, the Boys Dormitory was occupied by three second-year students. Two of them were sitting at a square table at the center of the circular room; one, a tall, lanky, asian boy with big ears and teeth, was reclining with his feet propped up on the table, and the other, a shorter boy with wavy, chin-length black hair and black boots, was sitting with his elbows on the table, drumming his fingertips over the wood idly.

The third student in the room, a girl with long auburn hair and puffy cheeks, was pacing back and forth beside the table, occasionally casting anxious glances towards the big circular wooden door of the room.

Lee Jordan's voice was echoing throughout the room from a small wooden wireless on the table.

"That's all for tonight's _Potterwatch_," said Lee. "This broadcast has been brought to you by people who know how to let things go and not transfigure their best mates into duck-beavers or whatever the hell - er - anyway, goodnight, ladies and gentlemen."

"So," said Elena, as Blackboot turned the volume knob down to silence the advertisement for Witch Weekly magazine, her voice slightly more high-pitched than usual. "How's Donna?"

"Bit boring, actually," grumbled Blackboot.

"Oh." Elena looked away.

"And how does that make you feel?" asked Munky.

"It doesn't make me feel anything," said Elena quickly. Munky raised his eyebrows. "I mean, why would it? Why would you be asking me?"

"I wasn't." Munky sighed. "Where is he, anyway? He should have been here by now."

"Do you think something happened to him?" asked Elena.

"Nah," said Blackboot. "He's probably just held up on the staircases or something."

"_Insolent shoe!_" barked a voice from the other side of the circular door of the Boys Dormitory.

The three Bandits perked up; Munky took his feet off the table, Elena sat down, and Blackboot stopped drumming his fingers. The door opened by rolling into the wall like a coin, and in walked a young wizard with short, buzzed blonde hair, blue eyes, and one shoe untied. Clutched in one of his small hands was a rolled-up scroll of peacock-blue parchment.

"I've got it," was all he said before he unrolled the parchment, stretching it over the table.

It was a perfect blue-and-white map of Hogsmeade, complete with little blips that indicated the locations of everyone in the village. Madam Rosmerta was walking back and forth behind the bar at the Three Broomsticks, Aberforth Dumbledore was tending to his hidden goats behind the Hog's Head pub, and Rubeus Hagrid could be seen dashing out of the Owl Post Office and disappearing up the road that led to Hogwarts Castle.

Other names that swarmed around the town included Willy Widdershins, Horace Slughorn, Stan Shunpike, and Seamus Finnegan. The map also featured all outgoing secret passages that led to Hogwarts Castle, even the one that connected the Hog's Head to the Room of Requirement, though it was merely alluded to by a scribbled text, as the passage itself was unplottable. On the corner of the map, written in the golden Weasley's Wizard Wheezes font, was_ The Bandit's Blueprint_.

"Brilliant," declared Blackboot. "Just brilliant!"

"Reckon he'll do the forest next?" wondered Munky.

"He's not that mental," said Elena.

"We'll see," said Roque. He placed the tip of his wand against the center of the map, then whispered: "_Chaos complete._"


	19. Epilogue: Neville Moves On

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any association with its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction.

* * *

49 years after Neville Longbottom's first date with his wife Hannah Abbott, the happily married couple had invited several friends over to the greenhouse of the Longbottom estate, which had once belonged to Neville's grandmother. Neville, whose hair had grayed and receeded in his 69 years on Earth, was standing before a massive stone pot; a single red leaf was placed at the center of the soil-filled pot, which stood taller than Neville's waist.

Beside him, his 70-year-old wife Hannah was speaking to a crowd of their closest friends. Harry and Ginny Potter stood at the center; Harry's hair had grayed as well, and the thickness of his lenses had grown nearly as much as his nose hair. Ginny's skin was quite smooth for her age, and her hair had only darkened to a very deep red.

Beside the Potters, Ron and Hermione Weasley watched Neville intently as he turned his back to them and leaned over the massive pot. Hermione's hair had faded as well, but it had not lost any of its volume. Ron was as thin as ever, but, with his old skin, it made him look quite skeletal. He, like Harry, had not gone bald, and maintained a vivid orange hair color.

Luna Scamander was present as well, though her husband Rolf was mysteriously excluded from invitation. Luna's hair was now white, and her eyes bulged even more; had Harry not known her for so long, he might have gotten the impression by her appearance that she was the type of old lady to house twenty cats and scare neighborhood kids.

"Why did you bring us here?" asked Harry, looking around the vast and lively greenhouse. The air was thick with moisture and a zesty scent of plants, and insects were buzzing about urgently.

"Igneus Viridis," said Neville eagerly. "Burning Green..."

"Sounds familiar," said Ron.

"I showed you this..." Neville's sentence faltered as he turned around and counted the guests. "Where's George?"

Out of instinct, the guests looked up to the skies; the sun was setting, a bright semicircle on the horizon, with waves of ruby and magenta streaking the clouds. Amidst the orange sky, the silhouette of a massive figure could be seen growing larger as it approached the hill upon which the Longbottom estate was perched.

"Oh no," said Hermione. "Right next to a Muggle town. What's he thinking?"

"Well, when your brother's the minister," said Ron.

"Plus, he's got enough influence as it is," said Ginny. "Everyone knows the only reason he hasn't become Minister of Magic is because he thinks the job is for prats."

"That, and he'd immediately come into about fifty scandals, since the Prophet would be watching him much more closely and find out all the mischief he gets up to," added Harry.

"Not to mention half of his 'projects' are illegal," said Hermione, though she was smirking. "I'm just glad no one's been hurt."

"How many is it now?" wondered Ron. "I can't recall ... There was the Bandit Blueprint, the Hyena thing, the Magical Armor, the sparkly-smoke pipe - not sure what the point of that one was - that spell he invented that makes someone's clothes transparent - I never learned it, Hermione, I swear - the Reverse Bubblehead Charm - reckon that one did a lot more good than harm, now the Merpeople have a chair at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures - I think I'm forgetting one..."

"Yeah, that," said Hannah, pointing at the large figure in the orange sky.

As the figure flew nearer, it became distinguishable as a giant wooden pirate ship, with ragged white ropes hanging from its sides like spider webs, a large iron dragon statue carved on its bow, and big black sails with jolly roger designs, the bones of which were shaped in the form of W's instead of X's. Protruding from either side of the hull were rows of oars that looked like giant feathers, flapping up and down to help keep the ship airborne.

The leviathan ship grew more and more colossal the nearer it flew, until it finally landed in the front yard of the Longbottom Estate. A latch in the hull opened up, and out walked Angelina Weasley, a tall black witch with braided hair and bags under her eyes. Behind her, Lee Jordan emerged, with his scruffy white beard and Mad-Eye Moody's bowler hat.

"Hey, everyone," said Angelina.

"Hello," said Neville. "Where's George?"

"Oh, you know him," said Lee. "He always wants to make an entrance, the old berk."

There was a great metallic clanging from the hull of the ship, and Neville and his guests quickly turned their heads to look at the doorway of the hull. A big, heavy figure emerged from the darkness; a knight clad from head to toe in a full suit of shining silver armor stepped out of the ship, creating a deep thud with each of his footsteps.

He traversed Neville's front yard and stepped into the greenhouse, stomping his way towards the guests, most of which were smirking, on the verge of laughter. He stopped as he reached the crowd and lifted up the visor of his helmet; a thick cloud of sparkling golden smoke wafted out from inside his helmet, and, once it had cleared, the grinning face of George Weasley was revealed, biting a wooden pipe.

"You shouldn't smoke in sealed armor," warned Hermione.

"Right," replied George. He waved his hand, causing the armor to vanish into thin air. Once it had, the group noticed that his wand was positioned at his forearm.

"Must you wear that suit in public?" asked Angelina.

"It is essential," replied George.

George had changed the most since the group's Hogwarts days; his hair, once short and orange, was now long enough to reach his shoulders, and had faded to an auburn hue. He had also grown a beard to match, which extended down to his collar, and curled upwards at the end, giving it a devilish quality, which many supposed to be an homage to Peeves the Poltergeist. His missing ear had been replaced by a small golden horn, which only served to freak people out even more.

"So, what's all this about?" asked George.

"It's my baby," said Neville. "No, not my son - it's this plant. The Burning Green. I've been caring for it for fifty years. It's taken all my Herbology knowledge to keep it alive, but I have, and now, it will bloom."

"What exactly is going to happen when it does?"

"Huh..." Neville frowned. "I forgot, but I know it's meant to be quite amazing. Let's just watch."

After nearly thirty minutes of silent observation, the group witnessed the red leaf in the pot begin to change. However, it did not grow, but shrunk back into the pot until it was no longer visible under the soil. A few seconds later, a massive snakelike figure burst from the dirt; Harry first identified it as the biggest piranha plant he'd ever seen, with a big red venus flytrap-shaped set of teeth at the end of a long green stem.

Neville tensed his eyebrows, lost in thought, until realization dawned on his face.

"Oh, I know what it does!" he said, as the plant began to heave up and down, as if it were breathing. "Wait ... Uh-oh..."

Before Neville could react, the plant opened its jaw wide and blasted him with a massive stream of fire. There were several screams and gasps from the crowd as Neville became completely engulfed in flames. The fire was gone before anyone could extinguish it magically, and, by then, Neville was nothing more than a smoking crater.

This event marked not only the end of Neville Longbottom's wonderous life, but the first time Ron Weasley had managed to correctly use the Muggle expression 'hoisted by his own petard.'

* * *

A/N: Just for funsies. I felt like Neville's prized plant from Mermish Starflower never would have seen another mention otherwise. This doesn't mean there won't be a 4th installment in the series, so stay tuned.

* * *

Fun facts about this:

- The TOG series started as a text file that described a werewolf transformation, and the actual main file I use for the story is still called 'weredesc'(and weredesc2 and weredesc3 for the sequels).

- As such, the first part of the series I wrote was the werewolf transformation.

- I don't particularly like werewolves, especially the new romanticized 'anime werewolf' trend. A werewolf curse is supposed to be a crippling, dreadful illness. I wrote about one character becoming a werewolf because it really made things interesting and other post-DH fics have covered everything better than I could so I chose to make Ron a friggin werewolf okay?

- Ernie's line in the last chapter("That was good. I think you'll be really good at this.") is actually a Rupert Grint quote when he was talking to Richard Harris(Dumbledore) on the set of The Philsopher's Stone.

- I'm stupid: Dennis is a sixth year, why is he Head Boy? Whoops!

- The green duffel bag the Bandits use is a reference to the sitcom Newsradio.

- The movie reference in the chapter Mr. Company Man is from X-Men.


End file.
